I began my 41st birthday with my usual Saturday morning yoga class. There’s nothing like yoga to keep one feeling young and healthy, except that in this particular class, I tweaked my back a bit. It was nothing serious, just one particular movement that caused a bit of lower back strain. I did not repeat the movement, and periodically throughout the rest of the day, I did some dynamic stretches to keep my back limber and make it feel better.
That night, I got gussied up and thought to myself that I don’t look half bad for my age. Also, I wore whimsical shoes, which I’m pretty sure makes me seem even younger.
Ian and I went out for a lovely dinner. We returned home briefly, during which time I did a series of cat/cow and marauding bear stretches on our living room floor (still in my cocktail dress, mind you), and we headed out again to meet some friends (one of whom was celebrating her birthday, which had been the previous day). There was much merriment. There were some shots. There was a piggyback ride given to me for part of the roughly one mile walk from the bar to our friends’ house. There was karaoke. At one point, I was compared to Yoda (for my wisdom and perspective, NOT my age).
Ian and I decided to call it a night at around 3:30. As we walked a little more than a mile back to our house, I lamented the fact that my whimsical shoes were causing me discomfort. Don’t get me wrong, they’re actually quite comfortable, considering, but still… I kept telling myself we were almost home and kept up the conversation to take my mind off my feet and the fact that I was cold and my back was sore. The topic of skunks came up. I remarked that a few days earlier had been a very skunky day, as in, I’d endured the scent of skunk for the vast majority of my morning walk in the forest preserve. “Well,” said Ian, “this is a time of year when a lot of skunks are out getting busy with…”
“Skunky cold medina?” I offered.
“Indeed.” He paused. “You know, there’s a very narrow age range of people who would immediately get that reference.”
A brief discussion of Tone Loc followed. A lengthy discussion of Tone Loc would not have been possible. We both knew the two songs that everyone in our demographic knows, and there’s really only so much you can say about them. As we passed a park, Ian veered off the sidewalk and took a few steps toward a bunny that was sitting in the grass. I kept on walking, fearing that if I stopped or even slowed I would not have the will to start walking again. We were almost home, and soon I would be able to remove my adorable whimsical shoes that had been pushed well beyond their comfort capacity.
“That bunny does not like Tone Loc,” Ian remarked as he caught up with me once again.
“How do you figure?”
“Well, I was thinking about Tone Loc when I approached it, and it ran away.”
After knowing him for almost 18 years, it seemed I was finally having an effect on Ian’s logic since this statement is much more representative of the kind of reasoning one might expect from me. At first I tried to argue. Silly me. I should have realized this would be futile.
“Do you know any bunnies that like Tone Loc?” Ian demanded.
I was force to admit that I possessed little to no knowledge of rabbit opinions on the gravelly voiced performer. I also had no evidence that the bunny in question was a fan, so I ceased my argument. On the bright side, I had been briefly distracted from my aching feet.
It was 4:00 a.m. and we were mere feet away from our doorstep when I spotted two more rabbits in the grass. “Hey, you, bunnies!” I called, “how do you feel about Tone Loc?” One bolted away immediately (probably not a fan). The other retreated a few feet, paused for a moment, and then hopped away. I went in side, kicked off my shoes, and stretched my back again.
Still crazy after all these years…