Walking that line

My husband and I went to a family wedding last weekend and it was lovely. I haven’t been to a wedding in a while. My friends have all been married for decades and our children are too young to have their own.  Along with my chocolate favors, I left the reception with one thought: weddings are the ultimate age divider.

You’re old  OR You’re not old.

And I’m walking that dividing line, teetering dangerously to the left.  Upon recollection of our evening, I realized some subtle and not so subtle differences in the guests, and in myself.

Here are a few:

NOT OLD:  Cocktail hour, best part of the night, is when you really get your drink on.

OLD:     Cocktail hour has awesome pass-around food. You keep looking for the server walking around with the lamb chops.  Of course, you won’t get up to try to find her. She’ll be back.

NOT OLD: You watch the bride and groom’s first dance, impatiently waiting to get your ass on that floor and move.

OLD: You watch the bride and groom dance their first dance and reminisce about your own (from what you can remember).

NOT OLD: When they call the rest of the guests onto the dance floor, you rush out with your date with the intent to stay on it for the rest of the night.

OLD: You are called out to the dance floor and know it will be your first and only dance. Unless the DJ plays Build Me Up, Buttercup or The Electric Slide (which he won’t).

NOT OLD: You begrudgingly return to your table for dinner, which you don’t want because it interferes with your drunken high.

OLD: You ask for an extra twice-baked potato because no matter how hard you try at home, you just don’t make them as good.

NOT OLD: You completely miss dessert because you’re shaking your groove thing on the dance floor.

OLD: You enjoy the cake for three reasons. 1) It tastes yummy and 2) you like to have something sweet with your coffee and 3) you’re sober. You also know what “Shake your groove thing” is because you were through puberty when that term was invented.

NOT OLD: You don’t leave the wedding until the DJ tells you to.

OLD: You have to search for the bride and groom on the dance floor because you’re tired from all the eating and want to go home, peel off your control-top hose, and watch the news.

NOT OLD: On your way to the bathroom to pee and wipe the sweat from your  skinny, barely-covered body, you hardly notice the “sitting” table.

OLD: You’re at that “sitting” table.

NOT OLD:  You take a myriad of pictures with your smartphone throughout the night.

OLD: You remember when disposable cameras were the only way to take pictures at weddings.

So, I ate my way through cocktail hour (first time), had cake and coffee, danced once and then sat and chatted with Aunt Virginia, who’s 93, agreeing to meet at her house on Tues for lunch.

Oh, God, I don’t even think I’m on that line anymore.

Then I got to thinking about how my behavior is changing as I get older, outside of weddings,  and it further impresses upon me my age. For example, I know I’m getting old when:

  • I can’t go out two nights in a row anymore. I miss my couch and my flannels too much.
  • I hear the Beatles’ When I’m 64 and realize I’m not that far from it.
  • I get carded at the supermarket buying beer and post it on Facebook because it’s so funny.
  • I have to wear reading glasses to polish my nails.
  • I was in College when the World Wide Web was first introduced. It just turned 25.
  • I’ve lived through 4 wars.

Maybe I had an off night. We have another wedding in May. I’m going to fight against old age: drink during cocktail hour and dance my ass off. I’ve got to redeem myself.

I hope they don’t serve those tasty little lamb chops…