Forty Years

We celebrated our fortieth wedding anniversary on Saturday. For seven years we spent our anniversay weekend moving our children to dorms or apartments on college campuses. Those years are long past, and it's just the old folks now. This year we went to dinner at one of our favorite restaurants -- and I have finally decided that I'm old.

First, I dress inappropriately. Alex wore freshly pressed khakis and a polo shirt. I wore longish gaucho pants with a matching top, a little jacket that goes with it, heels and panty hose. Other than one woman in a feather boa, the other diners seemed to be attired in their formal jeans and tee shirts. This isn't a casual restaurant. While not the priciest in town, it is a linen napkin establishment and dinner for two (including tax and tip) runs $80-100. We are also going to a rather special evening event in a month or so and have been informed that the dress is "business casual". Does that mean I'm supposed to wear twill pants and a tee shirt to that? I don't have to put on pantyhose and pumps anymore, but -- just once in a while -- it's nice to wear something pretty and feminine. I understand, now, the ladies in senior citizens clubs who get all gussied up for the annual holiday lunch.

Second, I have become a less important person. Actually, I have been noticing this for some time. I often get waited on after younger people in stores (even if I was there first) or simply ignored. The restaurant was less than half full while we were there. A young couple came in about ten minutes after we did and were seated at the next table. They had their drinks first, and their food first. Our waiter -- no spring chicken himself -- even forgot one of the dishes we ordered. We probably looked liked we didn't have somewhere important to go after. At our age, however, he should have assumed that we need to get home for our early bedtimes. I was reminded of Ruth Riechle's book where she found that going to a restaurant disguised as an older woman resulted in inferior service.

Third, I can't carry on a conversation when there is background music in a restaurant. Despite the fact that the room wasn't full, people were talking over the guitar player. We had to speak loudly to be heard, and simply ate mostly in silence. We can talk at home, I suppose.

Nancy and a friend were over yesterday and Karen commented that it seems to her that "older" people in their forties and fifties get the best service. I suppose it's all a matter of perspective. Forties and fifties seems young to me these days. Do we cease to exist once past our fifties? When does that happen? 60? 65? 72? Maybe at our age we should just stay home, or confine our fine dining experiences to Marie Callendar's and Denny's.

Alex felt that the evening was wonderful. The food was good and the ambience terrific. I'm feeling that I'm not looking forward to going back there. The food was fine and the candlelight certainly hides my wrinkles and sagging chin. Despite that, I'd rather eat somewhere else next time we have a special occasion. I don't like feeling that my best days are past, and I don't like feeling less important than a group of twenty-somethings in jeans. If white napkin restaurants don't make me feel special, I'd just as soon stick to casual dining. The food isn't that much better when you pay twice as much for it.