Went to the Celtic Woman concert tonight with my BFF Stacy. Found out going to see great musicians in concert is a popular pastime for senior citizens. The average age of the audience was between 50 and 70. You'd think that, at 31, I wouldn't fit in. But shockingly, I did. I completely related to the menopausal women in front of me who kept fanning themselves with their computer-printed tickets. I may not be menopausal, but I sure play the part well, thanks to my broken thermostat (the one in my brain, that is). Also lost a race to the parking lot after the show. The winner: a 70-something, white-haired grandmother. Should have been embarrassing, but...well, come to think of it, it was kind of embarrassing.
We went to Applebee's after the concert for conversation and 1/2 price appetizers. Ok...we actually went there to get dessert. Don't judge me!
By the time we left the restaurant I was unable to walk in a straight line, so Stacy had to guide me to the car. No, I was not inebriated. It's called MS, people! As I drove Stacy to her apartment she expressed concern that I was swerving the car in front of the police station. "Don't worry," I told her. "After I fail the field sobriety test they will have to give me a breathalyzer. Then they will know that I'm not drunk."
For some reason, that worried Stacy even more. "How do you know you'll fail a field sobriety test?"
"Well," I answered matter-of-factly, "I know I can't pass one this time of night, drinking or no." Fact - I can't walk a straight line after 10 pm. My ability to reason tends to decrease as well, so it is a good thing my auto-pilot works. Luckily, the path from Stacy's house to my house is already pre-programmed in my brain.
You know, people make fun of me because the kids dishes are color-coded. Ash gets green, Andrew blue, Abby yellow, and Alyssa is pink. Each kid has their own preferences when it comes to food - Ashley gets more corn, Andrew won't eat gravy, Abby gets the biggest helping of broccoli...etc. But when the brain no worky it helps to have color-coded plates, because the auto-pilot still works and I can automatically dish up the correct servings.
Personally, I blame my narcolepsy medication for this late-night brainlessness. The drugs keep my body awake, but don't affect my brain, therefore turning me into a (crookedly) walking zombie.
P.S. Celtic Woman kicked butt. I'll take three-part harmonies and a killer violinist over rap "music" and twangy songs about Indian Outlaws any day.