I ran away two nights ago.
Wait. Does it still count as running away if you have your husband’s permission.
Does it help if I say I did not have my kids’ permission? In fact, they very much wanted me to stay. Ok, does it still count if you not only had your husband’s permission but it was his suggestion and he pretty much shoved you out the door?
Regardless, it felt like running away.
A whopping two miles down the road to Starbucks.
I sat down with the intention of doing I don’t know what really. Reading perhaps. Working on photos perhaps. Crying perhaps. Then, thanks to the packed Starbucks and the company I sat myself down next to because it was the only seat open, I found myself using all my muscles to not giggle.
I didn’t even have to look, because when I heard “What multiplies by itself 5 times and goes into 32? Let’s do a factor tree!” High-schoolers.
One boy, three girls.
(Enter an immense amount of “subtle” flirting here.)
There was the conversation about wanting to go to church and church retreats and how they make you cry for no reason because they are just like so emotional and how this one time…at church retreat this guy brought weed so that he could flush it in front of everyone to show he didn’t want that in his life and it was just like…woah…so emotional.
Or, the conversation about getting your wisdom teeth out and how when you wake up you are totally mellow but you look like a chipmunk which is why the one lady wanted to wait because she didn’t want a fat face but all you can eat is soup…and slushies…and pudding…
At one point, out of nowhere and I am not entirely sure in reference to what the phrase “you are totally in a midlife crisis” was used and I actually laughed and had to pretend I was on the phone. No my friends…I am in a midlife crisis and I sure hope it is a quarter life crisis because midlife would mean an awfully short life.
They covered cigarettes, eating fast food, bragging on themselves, songs, friends, the occasional academic mention, school sports, tweeting, texting, music and a whole lot my brain couldn’t keep track of as I tried not to giggle. I failed.
A belly laugh.
I remember those days and I wanted to tell that boy he might as well tell which one of the three girls painfully hanging on his every word pretending to care about things they don’t and pretending not to care about things that are driving them nuts he is actually interested in because I guarantee they all think they are in the running.
All I could think was, huh, it turns out that I’m not hip and with an almost three year old and a fifteen month old I am about as relevant to them as they think their parents are. I thought to tell them that today, I went to the store and came home with Tums, Icy Hot back patches and a bottle of bubbles. Go ahead re-read that purchase list, I dare you. I’m 28 going on 85 with that kind of shopping.
There is the laugh for you, my treat.
So I laughed because the realization could have brought tears, but why waste them on teenage nonsense that isn’t missed but wasn’t fully cherished either. Eavesdropping in was so sad at the importance in their brains, yet so hilarious. So, instead of crying, I laughed.
I mean laughing has the potential for an ab workout.
Think about that my friends.