A couple of days ago I hit the jackpot at lunch and sat at a table of six others who all had similar senses of humor. We laughed so hard we had others coming over to tell us the old joke, “Keep it down. You’re having too much fun.” I was the last one to join the table and when I sat down I announced: “I will warn you all that I’ve never had soup in this place that I haven’t spilled it on myself.” And another woman confessed she never orders soup in public because she can’t not spill it either. The conversation evolved into us trying to figure out why we can eat soup at home and not spill it but we can’t carry that skill into public places and we determined its all in the posture and our willingness to get closer to our bowls at home. Someone came up with the idea of making a fortune designing sippy cups for soup. Starbucks got adults to drink coffee out of sippy cups, why not soup? It might not be the answer to world peace but we did prove that old people can still problem solve with the best of them.
We filled two hours up with conversations like the above. At one point someone noticed the farmhouse table got new chairs and we all had to try them out and rate the experience. No one thought they were comfortable and I said all restaurant chairs are sold according to how fast you want your customers to turn over. “There are chairs that make your butt hurt at one hour, a hour and a half or two.” I have no clue if that’s an urban legend or it's true but we were all on a roll of irreverent one liners and that was before we started critiquing the four ‘fat people’ chairs in the cafe` and the two faux leather chairs by the fireplace. Unless you’re brand new to the campus or you’re wearing Velcro pants no one sits in those leather chairs because they dump you on floor.
Sitting here typing this I couldn’t tell you the names of all the people who sat around that table. I’m just not good at names and I never have been and I’ve concluded that’s because I’ve never made much of an effort in the past, especially when I didn’t think I’d cross paths with the person I was being introduced to in the moment. But a high percentage of the ladies here at the CCC spent their careers in the teaching profession and were discussing, one day, their tricks for remembering the names of their students. They find something about that person they can associate with their name. Ohmygod, I can’t do that or I’d be accidentally bellowing out stuff like, “Hi Squeaky Wheel!” or beautiful blouse, “Ms Tight-Ass.”
Remember how I used to get so uptight about what others here wore and how out-classed I felt in the fashion department of senior living? Now, two months later I’m still out-classed by most of the women but it doesn’t bother me anymore. There are others here who, like me, wear sweatshirts and one lady who I really admired for her causal three piece sports outfits when we first met wears that same two outfits so often she probably has to stay home when they need to go in the laundry. I can picture her in nightgown doing the laundry.
Another woman who has an expensive looking and well curated wardrobe wore an extra-large headless snowman pin the other day. She said she'd had it repaired several times but the poor guy’s head keeps breaking off. She named the jewelry designer who I didn’t and still don’t know but I couldn’t help myself from asking if the snowman was from the designer’s Stephen King collection. Thankfully she laughed along with everyone else. Anyone with the guts to wear a diamond encrusted, headless snowman because she “loves him so much” would have to have a sense of humor. ©
