Husband decided he wanted hot wings for supper. There are several choices for that particular delicacy (most of them bad), but we decided that there was a new one we hadn't tried, so off I went to pick up a to go order.
"You can pick them up at the bar, " said the voice on the other end of the line. "Give us about ten minutes." Those two sentences contain an oxymoron - bar and ten minutes - an indication that I will have a considerable wait, and that the venue will be ripe for people watching. Sure enough, the order was no where near ready when I arrived 30 minutes later.
But the bar was beginning to get interesting.
Happy hour was just beginning, and there were several newly-washed, slicked down fellas in full man-o-pause there to entertain the knock-off Hooters waitresses in their very brief shorts (with black shoes...but I don't think they were seeing the same thing I was). I felt slightly embarrassed for both groups: the men because they were painfully uncomfortable with aging, the young ladies because they were making their best tips when feeding their fantasies.
Mid-life "crisis" doesn't have to be cliche. Mid-life changes can be good when they allow one to look to the future as a time for new beginnings, of becoming comfortable with one's own skin, of having time to do the things of which you've been saying, "I'd like to do that one day." I'm there.
And the wings weren't too bad, either.
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