Put On Old

This happened:

Tonight @RealBobWilson and I took my 87 year old mother Melva to a fabulous new Indian place we found. Turns out it wasn’t new, she used to eat there years ago, but it’s still fabulous.

Anyhow, while Robert stepped away from the table for a moment, the charming, doe-eyed handsome young busser from Mumbai packaged up our leftovers for Melva to take home. We were making the usual chitchat, and I happened to mention that Melva is my mother.

“Really?” exclaimed the charming doe-eyed etc, “I would have guessed you were sisters.”

I didn’t roll my eyes. It’s a good thing, because he added, “That’s because she looks old but you look old too.”

Pow! Zap! Right in the kisser.

Oh, I laughed it off in the moment, and then had tremendous fun at Melva’s expense because she was fuming for half an hour at the insult to her widdle princess. (She’s my mother, if she wants me to be a little anything, well, she can dream.)

But pity poor Robert for the catechism he had to suffer in the car once we dropped Melva off. The conclusion of which is that since he loves me, he also loves how I look and that I don’t look 87.

Then again, neither does Melva.

The picture you see above is a few months old, but it’s only a few months old. If I put makeup on and stand in good light, that’s really me. The busser isn’t 20 yet. Of course he can’t tell the difference between 50 and 80, or in this case 53 and 87. I shouldn’t take it personally.

And that, my darlings, is today’s lesson. You can tell yourself things like “Consider the source” and “What goes around, comes around” and whatever the hell else you like, but in the end, we’re still superficial, we’re still vain, and we still care about the stupid stuff.

They have truly stupendous chili naan, though, so I can’t wait to go back.