The Middle Ages

My mom once told me that she could tell how old a man was by what he talked about.  Her story went like this:

When men are young, they talk about women.  Amongst themselves, they discuss the cute gal at the gas station, the sexy one who works at the post office, the waitress with the nice curves, how some chick flirted with them at the restaurant - you get the picture.

Middle age arrives and the conversation shifts to food - where you can order a fantastic steak, the best diner, the greasy spoon with heavenly lemon meringue pie, the fabulous Thanksgiving meals Gran used to make…

Old men talk about their ailments - diseases, operations, aches and pains, medicines they are taking, side effects of medicines they are taking, doctors they see, doctors they want to see, upcoming office visits, warts, moles and cloudscapes*. 

(*Autocorrect felt colonoscopies couldn't possibly be what I meant, so she graciously changed it to cloudscapes.)

The Zimmermans in our native habitat - a restaurant booth. 

I was thinking about this conversation the other day and what I hear these days validates my mother's theory.  I even see it in myself. Although I'm not gonna admit that my husband and I are solidly middle aged, I will say that now we go to the grocery store and impulse buy for fun.

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