Judgement Day

I helped judge a series of 20-minute musicals in written and audio recorded format for a University of Kansas philanthropy, Rock Chalk Revue. 

We laughed, we cried on the inside, we sat through awkward silence. Every group came in with great energy and enthusiasm, though not necessarily with great acting or singing. But what the night might have lacked in quality entertainment, it made up for with very short skirts, very high heels, and very bare legs sported by these young co-eds and adored by the gentlemen in the room.

After judging, two friends and I went down to the near-campus bar, The Wheel, for a pitcher of cheap beer and ruled the jukebox for 17 glorious tunes (plus "Jump" by the Pointers Sisters, which I had accidentally played thinking it was the Van Halen version). As the college crowd rolled in with their very short skirts and very high heels, we decided it was time to wrap things up. But first a strapping young college boy came over to us, recognizing us from the judging panel, and proceeded to grill us on his show, which, thankfully, was one we enjoyed.

He then pointed to me saying he remembered me judging last year. Fearful that I might have subjected him to a monologue on the proper use of their, there and they're, I asked him if I had been too mean to them.

"No," he said with a grin, "we remembered you as the good-looking mom-type person."

I excused myself and got in line for the restroom so I could play the game where I lift up parts of my face near the hairline to see what I looked like 15 year ago, but the line was very long. Fortunately a young girl from the same show saw me and brought me to the front of the line to grill me on the judging process. I listened to her a bit and, when the door opened, announced to the long line of co-eds that I really needed to use the facility and, having birthed 4 kids, I knew how to do it quickly. Without waiting for approval, I pivot-turned and locked the bathroom door behind me, receiving awe-struck applause when I emerged relieved and with clean hands in less than 60 seconds.

Dave told me this morning that I cannot use phrases like "Kids these days... " and "mixed tape" and complain about a 21-year-old pegging me as a "mom-type." (Dave can be such a drag.)

Off to buy some 4-inch heels so I can blend with the youngins, but only if they come with good arch support and generous inner padding.