October 25, 2007
Here’s to you, Mrs. Robinson
I went to the Kelly Clarkson concert last night. No, it wasn’t Hannah Montana, asshat. But I did feel slightly like a chaperone. A woman decidedly past her prime, one who plays the Partridge Family Christmas Album on vinyl, swirling around on the flokati with a martini while the kids describe the mashed potatoes with words like “rad.” I’m getting old.

My suspicions were confirmed when last night’s bartender called me “ma’am” not once, but thrice, while I was ordering my first Stella. I immediately swiveled around to view myself in the Bud Light mirror; a humid and rainy night, my hair was admittedly not worthy of a glamour shot, and my outfit was more Sandra Dee than Shakira. But ma’am? I saw no apron, no burgeoning moustache or breakfast of Jimmy Dean sausage to confirm my aging status. Maybe he did.

The conversation clearly irked me, as upon arrival at the 4x6 shoebox in which Ms. Clarkson would be playing, I asked the female ushers, “Are we the oldest women here tonight?” I spit only some of my $7 Bud Light onto her vest as she dryly replied in the affirmative. She later claimed she was joking. It might have been my tears that changed her mind.

I felt old. I cared not what I wore to that show, knowing full well that I wouldn’t be talking to any boys, save those who spilled fruit punch on me or the desperate and orthodontia-ed who wanted a Mrs. Robinson to take to prom. So during the concert I decided to toss the label, among other things, including my dignity. I chair danced and clapped my hands loudly (and above my head!) and jumped up out of my chair, causing the earplug-wearing “sir” in front of me to do the same. I shook it. Only my ass was decidedly looser than the one I donned in ‘93. How I miss you Toad the Wet Sprocket. And the days before the scourge that is cellulite.

I felt like an 18 year old when I trolled Constitution Avenue for 20 soaked minutes while trying to hail a cab. When I arrived home, I made a ridiculous bag of microwave popcorn and poured myself a Pinot-sized glass of 30-year-old port, both of which I consumed in my cotton underwear. Because, while odd and uncomfortable to imagine, it was just my rebellious self, my empty apartment, and the kids. Just the Kris and her old woman rules. No mom to force me to bed, no Geometry homework left unfinished, no panic about flushed condoms, no worries about Shawn not texting me after gym class. Ma’am indeed.


21 Comments:

Blogger Biscuit said...

Yay! Someone else who ops for the realistic size glass of port, instead of filling those ridiculously tiny glasses over and over. And over.

Blogger Heather said...

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Blogger Heather said...

Long gone are the days of being carded for booze...

...pleasecardmepleasecardme...

"would you like a bag for that, ma'am?"

...shit...

Blogger I-66 said...

I never did my Geometry homework anyway, whether wearing underwear or not.

Blogger mrsatroxi said...

I call everybody I don't know either "ma'am" or "sir".

Respectful, and (importantly in my line of work) arms length.

Blogger t2ed said...

You know that ma'am is code for "bitch." And I always say, "yes, ma'am."

Clarkson, really? You lost a bet, right?

Blogger t2ed said...

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Blogger *kb* said...

OMG! I would so go see Kelly Clarkson!! I'm amazed they were even selling booze! One bonus...I bet you never had to stand in line for a drink!! :-)

Blogger Gwen said...

Biscuit made me laugh (now I know what to get my in-laws for their post cocktail hour gin tumbler, post 3 bottle wine dinner, night cap Drambuie).

As did you, Kris, as did you.

Blogger Lawyer Mama said...

I hate, hate, hate, HATE being called Ma'am. Just shoot me now. Because it's all bout me (but you knew that, right?) I have to tell you what happened last weekend at the grocery store.

I'm buying wine & the dear sweet girl at the check-out cards me. Turns out she was a trainee. And the asshat kid who was training her started laughing and said, "She's DEFINITELY older than me! I'm 21." I brained him with the bottle of wine and then we started a discussion about how he was born in 1986. EIGHTY-SIX!

God, I feel old. But here's to no bedtimes, curfews, food police, and super sized glasses of port. Clink!

Blogger Ryane said...

Ouch. Well, being called Ma'am AND going to a Kelly Clarkson concert all in the same night is tough. No wonder you took all your clothes off and started drinking. hahahaha.

But it sure beats going home to Kool Aid and feathered bangs. ;-)

Blogger Paige Jennifer said...

Girly, I was jamming to Mandy Moore not once but twice in one week last month. Yes, you read that correctly. Bite me - it rocked.

And you know what - I'll take ma'am over bitch any day of the week.

Blogger Mia said...

Ma'am in'fucking DEED! I am cracking up. You GO with your bad ass self girl. Live life, or die trying :)

Blogger Dave said...

And Kelly was all, "You know, it really warms my heart when I look out at this crowd. It's not just my generation I see looking back at me. I mean, look at that old lady shaking her ass over there! I bet fifty years ago, she was watching Bill Hailey and the Comets play right where I'm standing. You go, grandma. You go."

Blogger Ulysses said...

I turned a corner last month, decided to strike back:
Everyone who Sir's me is gonna get a "young man" or "young lady" back in reply.

Blogger BeeWhoUR said...

Hi Kris, love your blog, just started reading it...

I had a similar moment yesterday at the mall with my 4 year old. This same scenario keeps happening to me everytime I enter a shopping center...

See, I left home feeling good about myself. Jeans with my button down shirt tucked in, no obvious pooch hanging out, still in the same size as in high school, but admittedly: much flabbier... makeup? Check. Jewelry? Check. Purse and keys? Check, check check... I felt good, looked good... and I was off.

Got to the mall and suddenly felt like a frump. Girls and 20-somethings everywhere looking urban-chic and so UNmom-ish. I looked in the mirror. My makeup looked like it had been put on by a blind woman... my clothes suddenly were ill-fitted. Strangely enough I seemed to have lost a whole inch or so on the length of my jeans, reminding me of the mid-80s popular 'flood' look; whats worse, a teeny-bopper behind me said, "Excuse me M'AM (!)" to get around me, because dazed and confused, I was blocking the onslaught of people...

Traveled the shopping center and headed home, stopped at the store for some vino (much needed). They routinely card everyone, which I firmly expected... yet today, they said "no, you keep your I.D., M'AM, I don't need to see it", when I started digging in the Mom purse for its retrieval.

I don't want to be the teen I was, or even the 20-something, but I do wish I looked like her...

Blogger throwingroses said...

Wonderfully told, but I've got to say what kind of bartender calls people 'mam? I'm feeling this bartender would call anyone of legal age that as well as any man the name "sir" or maybe even possibly calling them "fella", and if that was the case this would mean the bartender was a time traveling one from the 1800's. Did he look he could have a six shooter?

Blogger Jorge said...

You guys don't drink Port out of the bottle?

Really?

Maybe I'm the only one...

Blogger gorillabuns said...

but did you make a tray of loaded fries in the oven and fall asleep at the table waiting for them to bake?

not that i've EVER done this. well, not in the past few months anyway.

Blogger Spazzberry said...

God, the dreaded "ma'am." Reminds me of the pizza-face at the local grocery store. I'm buying wine, Captain Crunch and condoms. There's nothing "ma'am" about that.

So I am not the only 30-something that listens to Kelly? Hmmm...

As far as the "ma'am" thing...well, it happens to the best of us. I always look at it this way - will those pipsqueaks look as good when they reach my age???

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