“Babe, let’s do it. Let’s wrestle each other.”

Shake of the head (no).

“Come on, p-l-e-a-s-e?”

“No.”

A silent “fine” from moi.

The picture to the left is of my daughters getting ready to rumble (this family party occurred sometime over the summer). Isn’t that a great picture? Don’t they look like they are ready to have some F-U-N?

This seemed to be a pivotal moment for me. I thought, “What just happened? Are we really too old to have goofy fun?  Really?”

Is this going to be the rest of my life? No more goofy fun? Just boring middle-age whatever?

The incident made me sad. I don’t want to be too old or too stuffy or too proper to sumo wrestle. But, it was only one teeny tiny episode, right?

Wrong.

I recently attended a Chris Isaak concert (Chris Isaak Wicked Game YouTube video). HE. WAS. AWESOME. 

Once Chris started crooning, I wanted to do what most fun people do at concerts – stand up and dance all night! But, NOOOOOO.

There was no dancing – just like Footloose. I wanted to boogie, but due to peer pressure (we were on the floor in the middle of the middle), I had to settle for chair dancing (and not the sexy kind as in let’s say, Flashdance – Sexy Chair Dance). My version of chair dancing probably looked more like squirming as if  I were discreetly trying to fix a wedgie.

Poor Chris. He’ll probably never come back to my stuffy, proper city that doesn’t groove to the beat (dead inside, the entire lot of ’em). Why would he? How fun could it possibly be to play for a crowd that acted like limp, wet rags? About as fun as getting poked in the eye with a hot poker I would imagine.

So, is that the way it’s going to be? No sumo wrestling? No dancing? I’m not quite ready to play dead yet.

Who’s with me?