Twenty-Five

Right.
So I'm at this party the other night and I'm working away at the populace's favourite bottle of sparkling "wine" and this party is in a hunting lodge, there are about 30 other locals and Rhianna is whining away in the background.

Now, just for clarification: I'm 25 now. as of very recently, mind you.
This party was not for me and that was really not the point.
The point was that I was surrounded by 18 to 20-SOMETHINGS, was holding a plastic cup of a lukewarm barely-able-to-prove-its-alcoholic-content beverage, and ended up being told very coyly by a freshly-legal platinum blonde that she was there "with HIM" and that she was also there to "keep her eye on him for the evening" after I had attempted to be polite, introduce myself to her and shock! horror! make conversation.

I feel like the outdated version of Sarah Jessica Parker from some overplayed rerun of Sex And The City - you know, the one where she ends up dating some guy that is 20 years her junior and she starts realizing that she is just "too old for this" after encountering his roommate wandering naked through the kitchen and probably a pizza box from last week under his bed.
Well folks, I am officially too old for this. So colour me Sarah J and pour me a bourbon.

I mean, for crying out loud. I meet someone new and he starts hearing about my job as a primary schoolteacher. That's all well and good but the turn-off is epic for a 20-year-old hearing about "the funniest thing that Josie said the other day."
And SORRY but that is inevitably where the question of, "So, what do you do?" is going to lead us.
To top it off, I got into a conversation about raising children with a MARY KAY CONSULTANT just the other day. Took us about an hour and a half to work through that bad boy but we did it.
Not to disregard is the fact that I performed an exorcism on myself directly afterward. Sorry but talking about potty training and the terrible twos with a Mary Kay consultant who is more of a cultist than the religious lunatics standing outside abortion clinics is even a bit much for open-minded me.
But me rambling on about children is not due to my biological clock going off every 15 minutes nor does it mean that I am beginning to fall asleep counting pacifiers.
Cause I mean - heavens have mercy. not in this life...

I just mean that I am, to the thriving youth who are jamming out to Lady Gaga, sporting her style of leather underwear, and still thinking that Michael Jackson was a white man - to them, I am a flat-out bore.
Maybe I would not want to hear about kids at a primary school and maybe I would think that I, myself, were a bit pretentious if I met me and I started talking about Kant's Categorical Imperative and wanted me to join in.
(that above sentence is so confusing. never again.)

But while, to them, I am the epitomé of one big snore - I'm holding the paper cup of fruit juice and thinking, "who DOES one have to kill in order to get some decent conversation around here?"

So. I'm sorry that I am boring kids. I really am. You cats are really quite cool with your latest trends and your catch phrases and your secret signals and well. by golly. I remember those days and how cool I thought I was.
But what I need is a cup of coffee and at least 6 hours of solid, non-alcohol-induced, sleep so running with the big dogs is obviously not my game anymore. Throw in a casual conversation not surrounding the topic of "who kissed whom" and we have something.
I need three days to recover from you young whippersnappers and quite frankly, it's embarrassing, but I believe that I am willing to hand over the torch.

This does not mean that I am old.
Au contraire.
It means that I am just in a different age bracket and that I need to, so to speak, get with the times....
....and find someone who knew about Michael Jackson before he started looking like Liz Taylor.

Good Old Golden Rule Days

Resurfacing to post pictures of my kids....
that are, well, not my kids but the kids WHOSE LIVES I RULE EVERY SCHOOL DAY.

My boss and her beautiful little girl:

Our cooking class. We made waffles. Well, Liesl made waffles.

The day at the water museum with our head teacher - she is my hero, a total legend. We obtained coffee and made an attempt at staying warm. The day resulted in an Italian restaurant, hot chocolate, and ten so-well-behaved schoolchildren. It was lovely.

Our stud. The girls have all already declared their undying love for him and the new favourite pastime is to chase him down and tickle him. Despite what he says, he loves it.




With love from Berlin.