Saturday morning, over cups of decaf and scrambled eggs at Village Inn, I received a bit of wisdom from my dad's Aunt Jean, a sharp and stylish 78 year old woman. I hadn't seen her in years, but her face was just as I remembered, albeit her cropped silver hair. Aunt Jean was lovely and her little dog, Lady, wore hot pink and denim. She was married at 18 and enjoyed 58 years of wedded bliss, but I wasn't surprised that she thought it smart and wise to be older (27, or gees, it could be 30) to enter a relationship (she was a bit shocked someone hadn't snatched me up...). Her reasoning? At that age, you don't have to prove yourself to anyone. Advice that I could have used prior to a brief summer romance that had me defending my black wardrobe and likeness for Kohl's, my favorite beat-up running shoes, my sweet sarcasm, and my ramblings on The Muse, to boot!
I adore these conversations with this generation, especially since I don't have any grandparents to call my own. I am visiting AJ in February (think winter in Arizona), which perhaps by then, I will be snatched up so I can bring the fine fellow along. Forget the brothers' approval; I want AJ's blessing instead (which should be easy as long as he's not a Democrat...).
|And before you question our choice of breakfast spots, Village Inn was not my pick... but the coffee was good and the bowl of grapes were sweet. And that slice of Pecan Pie looked divine. Next time. Perhaps over marriage advice with AJ...|