Part 3.......The Aftermath

The concert being over, it was time for food and frivolity. Ardith's willingness to drag her mother along showed either a profound naivete or absolute lack of fear. I prefer to think it was the latter.

The thought of being with several of her friends from work was somewhat unnerving. Would they be talking shop? Was it all to be about roms and rams and...sheep and stuff? Did people who spent all day at a computer typing code even know HOW to talk? And then there was my worst fear.....if indeed they could talk, would they be willing to converse with me once they discovered I didn't know how to play games on my cell phone?

These and other angsty thoughts tumbled about my forty-seven-year-old brain.

"So, where is this Turkish restaurant we're going to, Ardith? I inquired.

"You mean Greek, Mother Dear. It's Greek!"

"Oh yeah." *mentally pounds forehead* (I knew that, I knew that....AARRGGGGHH! I'm gonna die)

Fortunately, I did not have time to reach hyperventilation stage, as we soon arrived at the Turkish....I mean GREEK restaurant. Ardith's four acquaintances pulled in at the same time.

Introductions all around and seating at a table. Ardith generously offered to pay for whatever I ordered. Whipping out my "We've Spent A Gazillion Dollars on You" list, I immediately crossed off the first 10 bucks. Clean records make for good feelings between family, don't you think?

When it became apparent that the others were ordering meals, I took stock of my stomach--still filled with Arby's Chicken Fingers--and just ordered dessert. Molten Chocolate Cake. The waitress asked, "Would you like that served with the others' entrées? Or would you like to wait?" "I'll have that with their meals, 'cause I want to eat it right in front of them." *smirk*

This was one Ma who wasn't going to sit around and be nice.

A particular appetizer popular that night concerned feta cheese (I think) on a plate, with some type of alcoholic liquid poured over it. This would be brought out by the waiter/waitress, held off to the side of the table, and then dramatically set ablaze with a hand-held lighter.

It was startling. And loud.

I'm tellin' ya, there were cheese bombs going off ALL OVER THE PLACE! Ma freaked out more than once, and just about pulled a neck muscle from all that cringing. Looming in the future was a visit to the psychotherapist (post traumatic cheese bomb syndrome) until the waitress started issuing warnings of impending explosions. When you couple this with being in the presence of five smart young software engineers, we are talkin' major, MAJOR white knuckle grip on the nervous system.

I must say though, Roger, Cameron, Jessica and Larissa were all quite amiable. I would even go so far as to say they appeared normal. And I don't think this was just preparatory to pumping me for embarrassing stories about Ardith. For certain, I was momentarily tempted to divulge all those great potty-training tales, but I soon quashed that urge in the interest of my daughter's self-respect. Then too, I wished to come for another musical bash in the future. Parental tact is all well and good, but grasping self-interest can be quite the deterrent.

In an effort to strike up conversation I turned to Roger and informed him, "You know, my husband always wanted to name one of our boys 'Roger,' but I wouldn't let him. Never liked the name."

Yes, a good insult will go a long way toward ingratiating yourself with the younger crowd. (I learned this little tidbit from my dad who is an artist) Just make sure you keep it authentic and above all, say it with humility. You just can't beat authentic humility. Besides, these guys were so respectful of the 25 year age difference, I could have gotten away with murder. At the very least, some in-your-face cheese bombs.

And do you know what the very best part was? Ardith couldn't finish her HUGE salad. "You're going to ask for a take-out carton, aren't you?" "No mother, you see, I don't have to anymore."

*blinks*

Suddenly, all those memories of my mom stuffing the leftover Texas toast into her purse as we left the steak house came flooding back.....and I KNEW what I had to do. Hey, I didn't grow up with parents who'd lived through the Depression for nothing.....

"Ardith, do you care if I take it home?"

*laughs* "No, mother, I don't care."

And so,

the torch,

has passed.

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