I was in the bathroom at Starbucks this morning.
I was, well doing what you do in a bathroom and looking at my toes. I was thinking that I was happy that I have a pedicure scheduled tomorrow because I was at Huntington Lake in a cabin last week.
Hmm...this probably sounds a bit strange. Let me clarify. I was looking at my toes because they look a little beat up, they need a polish change because camping and walking around in the dust is not good for cute toes. As I'm having this "first world problem" thought, as Michael would call it, Don't Go Back to Rockville by REM starts playing overhead. I loved REM when I was in college. Their songs remind me of college. They remind me of my Birkenstocks and being...younger.
The Starbucks bathroom is near ASU because Maggie has a swim meet this weekend and I live in Starbucks in between her 30-60 second events. So, ASU and REM...I feeling a bit nostalgic while I'm looking at my toes. I didn't used to care about my toes. I'd paint them myself or let the polish grow off the top. I care about my toes now, they are very well taken care of. When did that happen?
I washed my hands and hummed along with REM. Why don't I wear my Birkenstocks anymore? I think it's the callus, they are really hard on the heals. When did toes start to matter and why isn't REM on my iPod?
Getting older is this gradual strange process. For the most part I just go along changing as needed, taking on or giving up responsibilities and making things happen, but every now and then, sometimes in a bathroom, I stop and realize I'm older.
I will be forty-two at the end of the month. My oldest daughter will be twenty next month. I'm still waiting for the maturity part to kick in for me, but cute toes are now important. We'll have to see what important developments forty-three brings.
So weird the things you notice in a Starbucks bathroom when REM starts singing, huh?