What did you call me?....

In the mouth of two or three witnesses...

I have recently flirted with credence as I consider the facts before me regarding something that is becoming an increasingly sensitive matter--age.  Let's start with a story, a true story...

In the not too distant past, A and I ventured out to enjoy the latest motion picture release.  As I stood at the hometown theater "box office" window, I was engaged by an inquisitive young man behind the glass as his eyes poured over my drivers license, ensuring an honorable transaction.

"Hey, I know you..." the young man ventured.

Pause.  "You do?"  I replied curiously, knowing that I have never in my life encountered this person.

"Ya... aren't you Riley's dad?"  He chirped.  

WHAT!?  For those of you who do not know who Riley is, he is my brother of 5 years my youth. 

Imagine my stupor to this young man's bold inquisition.  Surprisingly, it was as difficult for me to disappoint this innocent inquiring mind's misidentification as it was for me to accept the fact that someone felt I look old enough to have a 20 something year old son.  

A fluke right?  How could any reasonable, fully-operational person believe I was old enough to have fostered a child Riley's age?  I wish I could say it was a fluke.

Sometime, more recently, I was visiting some friends (my age) outside their home.  As a neighbor-family (husband, wife, and baby in a stroller)  sauntered by, they decided it was their moment for glad-handling my friends and introducing themselves.  Not being from those parts, I removed myself a modest distance from the exchange and quietly observed.  This did not satisfy the neighbor, who must have felt some compelling need to bring me into the sidewalk conversation.  

"So..." the neighbor begins, "you must be the father in for a visit..." Naturally, this statement was a question, a question so flabbergasting that I only responded with a blank stare.  "Could he be serious," I mused.  "Did I hear that right?" my brain rolled on.  From my peripherals, I spotted my friends amused disbelief and anticipation for my retort.  

As I searched the archives of every snarky remark I have ever heard, I responded with a clever "no, I'm not the father."  A real zinger right?  No, no it wasn't.  Besides, I didn't think that the man was attempting to injure my pride by suggesting I was old enough to have fathered a 28 year old, as this gross-miscalculation is not in the common nomenclature for debasing a common fellow.  The neighbor grew awkward, as he realized that he was about to be the subject of the conversation we would resume once he continued his family stroll.  With that presumption, he and his kindred moved on.  Thankfully, my friends rapidly came to my aid, telling me that he must have been crazy, as there is no way I could look that old to anyone.  

I was placated.

But wait...

Fast forward to my cousin's wedding.  To my great honor, I was asked to be a groomsman for this special occasion.  The wedding was to be performed at an exquisite reception center in Salt Lake.  Upon arriving to location, I parked my car and proceeded to the front entrance to this urban oasis.  As I breached the doors I was greeted by an attractive young lady (no guesses about age here folks),  "Welcome, sir." she offered.  I smiled, even though "sir" doesn't coagulate for me.  It was at this moment I got blindsided... "Are you the father of the bride, or the groom?"  

Again, you might think I would have some sort of a calculated reply to this increasingly commonplace query.  All I can say is, it surprises every time.  "No, I'm neither the father of the bride nor the groom.  Where do I change?"  I figured the best thing I could do for both of us was a quick subject-shuffle.  

All I ask is this... If I look 50 years old now... what will I look like when I'm 50?

Sea Food

I would like to know if any of you have seen the newest commercial for "Joe's Crabshack?"  Don't know the one?  It starts with a close up of a tin-bucket full of steaming oceanic fare as it bursts through swinging kitchen doors headed for a table full of anxious diners.  

If you are filling your mind with the mental imagery some of the classic "Red Lobster" commercials may have provided you, stop now.  This was nothing like the "Red Lobster" trademark tactical close-up of a skewered line of succulent shrimp sizzling on a grill as a swift butter brush descends liberally upon the crustaceans, splashing buttery-bursting delight that dons the return of another too-little-too-late "all you can eat"er.  This was a bucket of "Joe's." 

To be fair, I guess I should disclose that I am not a big shellfish fan.  Point of fact, I'm allergic to the junk-if consumed, it would kill me.  That being said, how could anyone be a shellfish fan after viewing this commercial?  Let's continue the breakdown.  

These "summer buckets" though generous in portion size, contain no clear images of what exactly is contained in the bucket.  There are various colors, shapes and textures overflowing the bucket that seem to never hold still long enough for you to identify any specific item.  And what about the black cross-dresser that is seated at the table of diversity?  

Perhaps this commercial is a perfect explanation for why the last load of what used to be our neighborhood "crab shack" just got hauled off in a dumpster (it closed and then the building was demolished).  Bon appetit!