9/8/2004 - Second Childhood

I am being set up by teenagers.

Background: A few weeks ago, I had my band play at my daughter's birthday party. One of her friends has a single aunt, and this friend told her aunt something to the effect of "Jodi's dad is cute for an old guy".

Hell, I'll take "cute for an old guy". I used to have an aversion to "cute". Mickey Mouse is cute. Care Bears are cute. Hound dog puppies with big droopy eyes are cute. None of these entities are getting lovin'. I'm not talking about "oo, you squeezably soft MUFFIN" lovin'. I'm talking about "SAY my name!" lovin'.

So I always hated being called "cute". Just recently, though, I discovered that there is a type of woman that prefers "cute". There is a type of woman who really enjoys the sophomoric innocence, the passion for playfulness, the puppy-like, wide-eyed "we're going for a ride in the CAR? YES!" This type of woman turns out to be the type of woman I prefer. This type of woman says "Let's go to a ballgame! OH! Hot pretzel! And a beer! Now let's go gambling! Are you hungry? Let go eat! Let's keep having fun!" I'll keep the rest behind closed doors.

So I'll take "cute". I'm actually quite happy with it now.

Back to the topic. Jodi's friend's aunt expressed interest in meeting a "cute for an old guy" bass player. Jodi tells me that this aunt is beautiful. Beautiful is nice. I like beautiful.

So, for the past two days, Jodi and her friend have been the go-between, setting us up like we were two of their shy friends. Bek says that I have to tell Jodi to tell her friend to tell her aunt that she's cute, but don't tell her that I like her, and then she'll tell Jodi's friend to tell Jodi to tell me that she thinks I'm cute, too. Bek's scenario soon started bringing up bad memories of inexperienced teenage fumblings, so I'll stop there. My scenario was more... sophomorically innocent. I will write her a note, have Jodi pass it to her friend, who will pass it to her aunt. Soon, I'll be carrying her books, thinking "What's up with this?" while my friends laugh at me.

Tonight, I plan to stare in confusion and disbelief at a topless Eritrean woman in my dad's National Geographic. This weekend, my friends and I are going to try to find some guy to buy beer for us. Then we'll hang out in a park down by the Detroit River (I'm from Detroit) and try to drink it until the cops come and take it away from us, probably to drink it for themselves.

It's never too late for a second childhood.