It’s been a flurry of birthday-ing around here lately. Our sweet little Wemberly turned one a few weeks ago. She had a wonderful party and my tiny little double-wide hosted close to 50 people. I think I heard my air conditioner crying at one point during the party. Last weekend we had a birthday party for the most amazing three-year-old I know, my nephew Trust. And this past Monday we gathered at Mom’s for Sis’ birthday celebration. I didn’t have her gift in hand the night of her party because well, since I still have my Mom’s Mother’s Day present half-done on my craft table, I didn’t think it fair she get her birthday present first.

All this birthday hullaballoo makes me think about getting older which makes me think of a story that really must be shared. Last weekend Paul and I went to the Four State Farm Show in Pittsburg to represent Quality Fireplace. It was hotter than blue blazes and more humid than a fishbowl, but strangely enough we enjoyed our little mini working vacation. Even though I now live a low-carb lifestyle these days, one evening after dinner Paul said he wanted ice cream and I decided I’d splurge and have some as well. We decided to get our ice cream to go, so I went to order while Paul went to the restroom.

It didn’t look like there was an employee there over 17 and they all appeared to be less than enthused about their current occupation. After I ordered from a particularly morose ponytailed young lady I made my way to the register to an every-so-slightly less surly teenager. I was juggling my wallet and two ice cream cones, wondering if my husband had fallen in the toilet or gotten mugged along the way, when I heard a woman behind me rudely say, “EX-KA-YOOOOOZE ME!” I turned to her, ice cream dripping down my wrist, smiled and asked, “Yes?” She huffed and scowled and said, “I need to get to that tray in front of you!” then pushed her way past me like a linebacker, snatched the tray, and was on her way. I turned and made eye contact with the cashier who gave me a strange look then shook her head. I shook mine as well. I was thinking, “Some people are just so rude!” and figured she was thinking the same. Then she said, “Man. I just hate it when people yell at the elderly.” I looked around to find the elderly person the rude lady was yelling at only to realize I was standing there alone. There was no elderly person anywhere close to me.

I blinked a few times, made sure I registered what she had just said, then just bit my lip, mumbled, “Yeah…..uh…. me, too.” She handed me my change about the time Paul walked up. He asked why my face looked kind of pinchy and weird. I shook my head and said, “Let’s go.” I made it about halfway across the restaurant and I just lost it. My laughter too much to be contained, I relayed the conversation between giggles and snorts. He said, “She WHAT? She said YOU were elderly?? Why would she SAY that?” He seemed highly offended. Probably because he’s 10 years older than me and well, he didn’t like the idea of what that would make him. Then we both got tickled even more and couldn’t stop laughing.

Later when we stopped at Big Lots and I found my favorite anti-wrinkle cream super cheap, I loaded the cart up with as many as I could. Paul said, “Now honey, you don’t really look THAT elderly. I think buying ten jars of wrinkle cream is a little extreme. Maybe just get nine.” Did you know that anti-wrinkle cream actually is quite aerodynamic and makes a pretty good missile when launched at a husband?

Born a semi-diva and married to a redneck, through the magic of osmosis or just because of a serious lack of sophistication over the years, Kristin Hoover has found a balance of the two that makes her what she is today.