Grown-Ups

When i was 22 and fresh out of college with my psychology, art history, french degree I was thinking I was pretty hot shit. I guess we all do when we are young and don't realize we are stupid. I had written papers on soaring cathedrals and the ability of art to change thinking and hence, the world. Pretty heady stuff, i assure you. And I could do it in french. And also predict how that would make you feel. Take that! How things change...This week I wrote a paper about pork. Yes, pork. Now, I did talk about the social ramifications of the barbeque in the antebellum South. But still, pork. I look back at myself at 22 and I'm a little embarrassed for me. I feel that way about some of the youngsters in my protein class. There are two men who for some reason feel they need to bang on their chests during every class. They need to let you know how they do (insert task) and why it is better than the way you've been doing forever. These two men wanted to let our chef instructor know how they do things now. Not in her day. Which I might add was not that long ago fellas. We need to site studies, for god's sake, about red meat preferences for the kid who said he likes his well done. Who cares how he likes his! Are you eating it? I was mopping at the end of class and one of these whippersnapper kids came and took the mop away from me. I thought it was to be polite to the old lady. Oh, no. I was doing it wrong, he told me. If I turn it this way it will work better, he said. I said, "mop's all yours, kiddo". I apologize to all those I showed off to. I apologize for every Newsweek article I sited with glee. No, I didn't become the french speaking, psychoanalyzing art historian that I had planned on. But I think I'm much less annoying than I would have been. I am starting to appreciate being an out of work, mom-student that I said I wouldn't become. I like sleeping in and watching The View. I didn't change the world with my brilliance. I think I'm the better for it. I know my family is. And I've learned to keep my mouth shut sometimes. Not everyone wants to hear what I have to say all the time. I know, it's hard to believe. I wonder what will be the topic tomorrow that the boys will compete over to be the smartest and bestest at doing. I hope they can dazzle the old farts in the class about, say, chicken skin.

My bread class is mostly women so we don't have these beat your chest competitions. We are all dressed the same so we can't judge each other's outfits. Our heads are covered so we can't gawk at each other's hair. So we get along. We bake. We eat. We converse. There are no competitions. And on a lighter note, Gary told me I had a voice that could be on radio. "Girl," he said, "I could listen to you talk all day." He is my new best friend.