As The Years Race By

So our long time friends Mike and Loni hosted a party last night. Mike, very much his fun loving father's son, has turned his house into a hall of curiosities, including a small scare version of his favorite kitschy restaurant, Mai Kai. He has a tiki bar in his patio, chock full of WW II memorabilia, and various drink making tools, and fans. We sat outside in the thankfully cool fan breeze, drinking planters' punch, and catching up with old friends. Becky was in town to enjoy her artist son Matt's sho in Wynwood. She's been divorced from Rob for 5 years now, and she regaled us with tales of dating in one's 50s, including an executive who told her, as they headed out, that he loves to play shirless bartender for his lady friends. Well, thankfully Mike and I kept our shirts on, and we laughed at the stories. Speaking of big bellies, the Lord gave me another message about mine: a self diagnosed planter's fascitis, which is not nearly as fun as planters' punch. My foot hurts like hell from a stretched ligament -- and it happens to athletes who run too much, or older people with too damn much weight. I've been stretching out the ligament and plunging my foot in an ice bath. I REFUSE to start the pathetic ritual of going to doctors and therapists... Anyway, it turned out that in addition to hosting Becky, Mike and Loni were also celebrating their 27th weddking anniversary. Their boy Chris was there, and when I threatened to tell him tales of his parents' romance, he high tailed it out of the party. Still, it brought back stories of the 80s, when we were young and starting out. One of Mike's friends, a member of his curious troop of gentlemen bachelors, was there. Chris married in his late 40s, and now has an adorable 18 month old daughter. They were there. The girl reminded us of out Ds, and Wifey sang "Head and Shoulders" to the little girl, who laughed in that way only little girls can. Chris is still in great shape, but still...the thought of toddlers at an age closer to grandparenting ...as my old boss Ed would say, I'd rather drink Drano. As it was, I drank a few more glasses of the rum punch, and we headed home to our quiet house. Time to put the foot up...