I’m Caught In a Trap…

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By Patti Parish-Kaminski, Publisher

I am officially old.  It’s finally hit me.  I never really thought I was old until now, and the realization cut me in half like pants that are way too tight when sitting for more than 30 minutes.

In honor of Mr. Kaminski Day last week, I procured tickets to a grand event, one that both Mr. Kaminski and I were looking forward to.  It was a nostalgic situation, but I like nostalgia, and he tends to like what I like, keeping the peace and all, so it was all good.

I hosted a lovely dinner in honor of the birthday boy with some close friends, and then we commenced to embark on a blast from the past:  an “Elvis” concert.

Now when I say “Elvis,” I mean Elvis tribute artist Donny Edwards.  We all know that Elvis is up in heaven with Dolly, Loretta, Tina and Whitney – all the girl greats.  I don’t think my man E is hanging with the guys.  I mean, it’s heaven.  Why would he?

I was excited.  I saw the real Elvis as a child three times, as Mother was a huge fan, hence I became a huge fan.  At our rehearsal dinner the night before our wedding, Mr. Kaminski surprised me with an Elvis impersonator to serenade me with love songs.  Mr. Kaminski was sweet like that, back in the day.

In anticipation of the big event, I donned my Elvis jeans.  Now I have had these jeans for over 35 years, so it was prudent that I do a trial run before the big night.  I tried them on and lo and behold, 35 years and two babies later they fit!  It was a huge win for your girl.

I was feeling pretty sassy in my threads, and I was quite cautious to not actually eat food during dinner lest the snug jeans commence to cutting me.  I got them on.  Comfort wasn’t in the cards.  It was the on fleek theme dressing that mattered.

As we entered the theatre, I began to notice this and that.  A walker or two.  Elderly gentlemen with canes proudly sporting Elvis ties from the 1968 comeback special.  A sea of gray-haired Elvis t-shirt wearing ladies.  Orthopedic shoes. The distinct aroma of Bengay, which I kinda appreciated as my seasonal allergies were giving me fits, and the pungent scent of Bengay tends to open my sinuses right up.

As we got comfortable in our balcony seats, it occurred to me that Mr. Kaminski and I were quite possibly the youngest people in the theatre.  Interesting phenomena sure, but I didn’t let it phase me too much.

It was a 90 minute show with an intermission, which I thought was a bit odd.  I mean movies are essentially two hours with no intermissions, so why would there be an intermission after only 45 minutes?

The clues were there; I simply wasn’t picking up what they were putting down, as Aubrey would say.  Yes, she’s two years old.

I got up to stretch my legs and wander a bit during the intermission, and there it was:  the line to both restrooms.  Apparently, geriatrics were doing a number on the attendees, and intermission was essentially a bathroom break.

It was at that moment I connected the dots, suspicious minds and all.  In my defense, I had a couple of drinks at dinner, and my britches might have been cutting off the blood flow to my head.

“We’re old, and we’re attending an old people event,” I told Mr. Kaminski who merely shook his head in agreement.

“But it’s a fun old people event,” he responded with a smile.  He had downed a couple of cocktails as well.  God bless him for his winning attitude.  See y’all next week – on the porch!

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Patti Parish-Kaminski

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