I'm old...or getting there, anyway.

I was at Panera Bread last week. Standing in line. Wishing I was lying supine on an island somewhere. My peripheral vision picked up the most hideous sight. 

There was a girl, very long legged, with what appeared to be panty-sized shorts on with these crocheted knee-high sock things that went from her knees to about mid foot so she could STILL wear flip flops. She had bad hair and worse make-up. Then I heard the conversation.

Girl: "omg...I'm still working at Hollister, it's sooo easy, I can soooo get you a job there if you want"

Other girl: "well, I'm pretty happy at my dr.'s office, but it sounds like you're having fun"

Girl: "I don't do anything, it's so easy, and look at my cool clothes"

I wanted to barf. For many, many reasons. Perhaps it was the smell of onion soup wafting past my nose at the same time I heard this conversation, or perhaps I realized how old I really am. But you know what? I wouldn't change being almost 30 for anything. You just don't seem to know the same shit at 18 that you do at 29. I like to think I know shit.

That poor girl. She has no idea and probably an even dumber boyfriend. 

cheers with my Ziegen Bock.