The Fem and I had 2 birthday parties to attend last night. One was for a good friend from our group. The other was for my cousin sisters 21st birthday. I texted one of my friends, Hey, were stopping by my cousins 21st bday party before the other party. Wanna come? He agreed to meet us there. The Fem and I arrived at 11:15 and gave my cousins name. Oh youre the first to arrive, commented the bouncer. When did 11:15 become first to arrive? They had a reserved section for the party, but we didnt sit there because we were somewhat weary of 21 year olds entering and wondering who the uncle and auntie in their section were. So we went to the bar and ordered a couple drinks, quietly watching Sportscenter. About 20 minutes later my friend arrived...with 10 other friends of ours. So there we were, a bunch of 30-somethings attending a 21 year olds birthday party with no actual 21 year olds in the building. Around midnight the first 21 year old appeared. Then another. Then another. When did 21 year olds start looking like 16 year olds and, more importantly, where were the rest of their dresses? By 12:15 there was a consistent flow of 21 year old Indians. Normally, when you are Indians at a bar, you quickly end up mixing with the other Indians. Someone always knows someones cousins brothers friend. In this case there was nothing. That many years was too difficult to bridge. These people were still drinking from milk bottles when we were high schoolers enjoying our first beer bottles. The only connection was my cousin...who still hadnt arrived. As the party grew, a force field of sorts started to form around us. A bubble into which no 21 year old entered and no 35 year old exited. Or at least no 35 year old should have exited. But we had men in our group and men have egos that make them believe they can do things they have no business believing they can do. And thus our men ventured out of our geriatric bubble, into the painful embrace of a 21 year old party. Surprisingly, no one rejected them. It was worse. They were just not seen. It was an invisibility that comes with being old enough to remember whose college apartment you gathered in to watch the series finale of Seinfeld. My cousin came in shortly thereafter and we chatted with her, commented on how beautiful she looked, and then released her to wander into an abyss of birthday hugs. We gathered our group and cabbed over to the other party. It was at a nice rooftop bar we frequent often with our friends. As we arrived, the elevator doors opened to a typical brown 30-something year old party; we were home again. As I stood at the bar sipping a drink, I searched the room and I saw them. A group of 40 somethings. Poor old bastards.
Posted on: Sat, 26 Jul 2014 22:54:20 +0000