So tonight I went with hubby and youngest daughter out to dinner. Nice restaurant (maybe the nicest in our small town). We went to have dinner with the special young woman who is in our son's life. They live in another town, and she is a pilot - flew in and had a layover. So, we arranged for dinner.
She's darling. Very bright. Very pretty. Easygoing and funny. Everything one could hope for. We managed to do okay - no totally embarrassing moments.
Or so I thought. I just got home. We have pretty bright lights in the kitchen. And, I see that I have a splotch of sauce right smack in the middle of my chest. Nice. Really nice. Like some addled senile senior whose bib got hitched over to the side.
For fuck's sake I can't believe I dropped food on my shirt. Goddammit.
This is why I dread getting old. I'm only 50 and it's only going to get worse.
Goddammit.
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