The other night I was in our local Homeland, as I am every few days, buying milk. Honestly, if someone could invent some kind of long-term pasteurizing method that would keep milk from expiring, so I could buy thirty gallons at a time, instead of having to continually run to the store twice a week for three more gallons, over and over and over, I swear I would kiss them on the lips. Drive through liquor barns in Ohio that also sold milk by the gallon??? Best. Thing. Ever.
But I digress.
After I picked up the milk, and some bread, and some Lucky Charms because my kids are on a Lucky Charms kick, and oh look, some Oreos fell into my cart ..... I pushed the buggy up to the check out lanes at the front of the store. There was a family in line in front of me ..... well, a mom and her teenage son, that is.
His back was to me, and I noticed right away that he was dressed .... well ... as many teenage boys are these days. Baggy pants, oversized hoodie, ball cap twisted sideways. The other thing I noticed immediately was that he had some kind of twitch. I mean, it was that, or a series of small seizures, but since his mom wasn't paying any special kind of attention, I just assumed it was a twitch. And I thought, "Oh, that's unfortunate." Then he turned around and I realized he had an ipod in his ears.
Dear Mr. Stork, thank you for delivering me in the mid 1960's, which means I was a teenager in the mid 1980's, the age of portable stereo systems and breakdancing. Because although I'm sure most of us born in this era looked just as silly as that boy when we were his age, at least people who saw us out in public usually could tell we weren't twitching, but instead were dancing --- the giant boomboxes were typically a dead giveaway. Who knew to be grateful for ghetto blasters?? We might have looked ridiculous, but at least it wasn't confused with Tourettes.**
**and I mean this with no disrespect to anyone with Tourettes, considering Kellen was almost diagnosed with that a few years ago ...... just that in hindsight, I'm happy for my boombox, which classified me as a dork, loud and clear, instead of teeny tiny ipods, which make kids of today less-obvious dorks.