Caution: The MPA (Martha Points Association of America) has rated the following blog post:
This weekend I went on a limo wine-tour.
Despite having spent most of my life in the rolling northern California grape growing community, I’ve never gone wine-tasting in a limo.
A friend is celebrating. Only we’re not really supposed to be celebrating. It’s a secret. I can’t talk about it. We couldn’t even tell the limo driver. And I can’t talk about it. So QUIT ASKING!
Do you ever feel like you’re playing dress-up as an adult? Do you ever feel like you’ve slipped on mom’s shoes and grabbed one of her handbags and are walking around in a land of make-believe while almost falling over in the heels you’re not used to?
Yeah. I feel like that a lot.
Put me in a limo and drive me around gazillion dollar vineyards with friends who know the names and relative quality of all the wineries and know how much to tip a limo driver and I suddenly feel like I’ve stuffed my bra to try and buy liquor while underage. (Except, for heaven’s sake, I never had to stuff my bra and it’s not always as much fun as you think!)
But despite this oft-repeated sensation of feeling a bit out of my depth in the limo-ing touring portion of the day, I couldn’t help but notice some trends.
We discussed the merits of a gluten-free diet on digestion and migraine prevention.
We discussed how to get the best percentages off at Macy’s and whether or not the rewards program on their new Am-Ex card is worth it.
We discussed whether a chiropractor or physical therapist is better to help you with your back issues.
And we discussed how many pairs of glasses we need to carry to deal with various reading and/or sun situations.
At some point, early in the day, my brain vaulted backwards and couldn’t help but compare these conversations with the sorts of conversations I used to have while on my third glass of wine.
And I announced: “You know, twenty years ago, we would have been standing around here discussing the best brand of condoms and now we’re problem solving dietary complications.”
In seconds I leap-frogged from girl trying to walk in mom’s shoes, to woman trying to fit in daughter’s jeans. (Except I couldn’t fit into Child C’s jeans unless you took a hack-saw to me.)
First, I’m now a snob. Take me to a cocktail party with Cheetos and bottled daiquiri mix and I will wait out food and drink till I get home. Unless the Superbowl is on TV, I’m going to feel cranky if the party came in a cellophane bag. And despite feeling like I didn’t know what the hell I was doing in a limo, I’ve become somewhat wedded to my creature comforts and I will complain if I’m spending the evening sitting on someone’s floor.
When did my life change from a party to be had in a keg of beer and vending-machine condoms, to mutual funds and the best bid on a new garage door? These days I’m debating with myself over buying the mini-blender even though it’s 40% off, and twenty-five years ago I was counting the days until the Victoria’s Secret after Christmas sale so I could get some racy knickers, four pairs for the price of two.
Cause, you know, some things were just hard on the knickers and you needed a couple extra pairs.
My announcement might have struck a chord with the friends on the wine tour, because if the conversation became too pedestrian or too focused on the illness du jour, someone would announce, “CONDOMS! We’re discussing the best condoms!”
Which may have confused the limo driver.
I’m not willing to let 40-something mean that I can’t be wicked or racy. I’m not going to let three kids in or near college make me forget the benefit of a quality condom.
Which can be bought in bulk at Costco.