Mmm, beer
Last night as I left the supermarket I was walking along in the parking lot next to an attractive woman who was carrying a case of beer to her car. She could have pushed it to her car in a cart, but she chose to carry it. Almost instinctively I started to say, “hey, the party’s at your place,” but I held my tongue. Strangely, it just didn't seem like the right thing to say.
There was a time in my life that I would have joked with her like that, though. Actually there have been numerous times in my life that I would have taken the bait. As a teenager too young to drink, with my buddies at my side, I might have teased her with, “Hey, how about giving us a couple of those beers.” The woman, older than us by a few years, but light years away in maturity, would have shrugged us off, maybe rebuffed us with, “In your dreams, boys.” In college, walking down the street on campus, I might have said to a woman with a case of beer, “Hey, where’s the party?” And if I was lucky I might have actually been invited, because on a college campus anything goes. In my twenties, with the allure of beer-binging pretty much behind me, I could have used the “party at your place” gag and we both would have laughed, thinking of the evolution of that line and how absurd it seems now that we have jobs, responsibilities, etc. She might even have jokily flirted back at me with, “Sure come on over.”
Sometime after the mid-twenties, though, the window of opportunity for a joke about inviting yourself to a complete stranger’s house to drink her beer closes. Slams shut, really. I’d never really thought about it before last night. There are exceptions, of course. Aging baby boomers at a rock concert come to mind. The joke will still work at an outdoor Jimmy Buffett concert. “Hey mind if we hang with you…” Parrot heads! Still, the opportunities are quite limited. I suppose the expiration date for this funny bit varies from person to person. For all I know, maybe you can still pull it off. All I can say is that it’s gone for me. How sad to think that a fun, harmless encounter with a stranger goes by the wayside just because of age.
Ah, hell, it doesn’t matter. Not really. Barely registers on the annoying meter. Anyway, regarding the woman at the supermarket last night: I didn’t really like the kind of beer she was carrying, anyway. I wouldn’t go across the street to drink it, let alone across town. Sour grapes. Or, rather, sour barley.
9:01:40 PM 
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