My “Spouse Sponsor” was a woman named Sara and I’d started addressing her as Yoda because she had more faith in me surviving this expedition than I did. Her husband, Matt, was a Fourth Semester and we’d been paired together because like us they were non-traditional and had kids. Yeah for me! Unfortunately, Sara and her boys were back in Canada visiting family. Luckily Matt was able to make it to the dinner and Jameson used this opportunity to query him on the school, classes, instructors and adjusting to the life of a med student at the age of 40.
I was uninterested in talk of MCB so I flagged our server, ordered another Carib and found that Grey had made his way to the foosball table and was locked in a match with an attractive young girl. Most excellent. At that moment, two of Jameson’s classmates walked in, ordered a party bowl (think fish bowl and long straws) and then sat down directly behind me. I recognized them from Registration because they’d been chattering about Tantra and Grey wouldn’t stop asking me if it was legal in this country to “club” when you’re 12. Remembering their conversation about Tantra, I started sipping my fresh Carib and listened to them gossip.
The cute girl in the horizontal striped mini-dress, wedges and sculptured nails began, “No, seriously. Oh my gawd! What was that song last night? The new one… something like ‘It’s Tricky’… do you remember it?”
In response to this remark, the other young, spry and wrinkle free min-dress clad med student said, “Yeeeeeesss! I loved that song. So, so looking it up on iTunes. Who was that band?”
My face must have registered shock because Jameson actually stopped talking to Matt to ask me if I was okay. When I didn’t respond he snapped his fingers in front of my face and said, “Wife? What’s wrong? Can you hear me?”
Slowly turning toward Jameson, I closed my mouth. I wasn’t sure where to begin. These chippies were talking about Run DMC, the forefathers of Hip Hop, as if they were trendy accessories like the Cosmo on Sex in the City. The song “It’s Tricky” came out the summer before my eighth grade year. I spent that summer craving cherry Kool-Aid because some study said it caused cancer in lab rats and my mother had forbidden Kool-Aid of all flavors in our house. These girls probably weren’t even born yet.
“Babe,” I started, “These girls behind us are in your class. They’re talking about Run DMC like, like… they’re a new flavor of Doritos.”
He inspected the girls, “Okay…”
“Do I need to spell it out for you?”
“Crap, Ja! These ‘classmates’ of yours don’t know who Run DMC is because they’re parents probably hadn’t even met each other in the mid-80’s. Don’t you see what this means?”
I had Jameson and Matts attention at this time and both were trying to figure out what was going on. Here is this First Semester with his act together and his wife is having a panic attack in a BBQ joint over a Hip Hop group from the 80’s. Classic. This was exactly the reason why I’d needed that z-something medication from Patty.
“I. Am. Old.” I’d said it. We had an attorney on retainer, a CPA, IRA’s and 401K’s. These girls had jell-o shots, an endless supply of cute shoes, smart phones and parents paying their way. The weight of moving to the island, selling our stuff and being surrounded by 20-somethings everyday had just come out. I was sure at that moment my elevens were like a neon sign on my forehead.
After a slight pause, my husband and Matt both started laughing and then continued on with their talk of some other class.
Mental Checklist: when we get back to the condo, watch the Tracy Ullman DVD’s that Taffi sent and sell some stocks. I’m flying home to get Botox, Starbucks and Krispy Kreme.