It is official. I am getting old. And you are too...don't think you are not.
A few of us "girls" went to see "Sex in the City" on its second opening weekend. Annie and I bought the tickets ahead of time and we were told by the child-man at the kiosk to arrive at least on hour early as it gets crazy on Friday nights.
I'm sure it does get crazy, and indeed I have witnessed such madness at the theatres, usually on opening night. This night it was anything but, except at the concession stands where wait times were about 30 min. I assume that this is why there is 15 minutes of trailers before the movie begins. Anyway, the movie was funny and poignant and full of the girly goodness that made the series such a delight. One critic derisively described the show/movie as nothing more than "shopping and shagging". And so it is. You either get it or not.
Afterward, we had a bite to eat at Moxie's in the mall. I noticed immediately, as did my companions, that all the "hostesses" looked no older than twelve. Seriously.
The highlight of the evening came when we were ordering. Our very skinny and young hostess was asked by Annie what desert she would recommend. I don't think that this girl ate anything more filling than nicotine but she answered with a smile:
"I like the chocolate mousse but my father loves the giant cookie with ice cream."
Annie replied without blinking: "So, since I am as old as your dad, it follows that I would like the giant cookie?"
"Giant cookie it is then," the hostess said absently as she smiled and took down the order.
Yes, it is official. We are old.
Get off my lawn.
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