Better With Age

Tom and I took out daughters and our niece to see Paramore at an outdoor show last night. They ended up hooking up with friends so - even though they were all around us, we were still essentially alone.

It was a very young, predominately female crowd. I won't bother to describe what that sounded or looked like - what you're imagining is probably right on target.

Tom to me: "I don't think we're the oldest people here."

Me to Tom: "You might be right. But if we're not, we're certainly in their peer group."

At one point, shortly after nightfall, we decided to take advantage of the fact that all the girls were standing so we had the blanket to ourselves. It was a beautiful night to be outdoors. We laid back and looked up at the stars.

Tom said to me, "Do you suppose those are airplanes?"

I saw right away what he meant. The stars weren't behaving like proper stars. They were blinking in and out in a way that was much more pronounced than a subtle twinkle (which is, as everyone knows, what proper little stars do). And one - no - more than one of them had tails.

"What the - is that a shooting star? I've never seen a shooting star before!"

"It can't be - I think they move faster - but it's something..."

We mused on the stars for a few moments, wondering why none of the kids were noticing the fabulous display going on right before their eyes. In years past, I may have attributed it to a contact buzz, but the smoking ban has pretty much obliterated that possibility.

And then it hit us.

We were getting this private show because when we laid down and looked up through our bifocals it distorted the images.

After we figured it out, we didn't stop. At least not right away. We were getting to trip for free AND the drive home and the morning after would be completely symptom free.

Getting old. Wearing bifocals. Bonus.