Observations of a Teenager

Last weekend I travelled south to the La Jolla Festival of the Arts with some family I had in town. I love art festivals, but somehow the love of creative overkill, lesbians in Crocs, and very expensive outdoor food vendors did not get genetically passed on to Cody and Colton. Because of this, Cody decided to stay back home, passing his time playing video games with the occasional interlude of "Carter torture". Colton on the other hand, out of sheer love and guilt (mostly guilt), decided to come along for the festivities. Obviously, this was a poor choice on his part. Not even half-way in to our drive, Colton was already wilting from regret in the back seat. But it was too late for him to change his mind--we were well on our way.

Upon arrival to the festival, Colton quickly observed that he was the only kid his age wandering amongst a maze of various mediums. It was true, the place was packed with middle-aged men and women ready to get their wine buzz on, and make some art purchase they would most likely regret later. Although I could tell Colton was experiencing his own personal hell, he was doing his best to soldier through. To help ease his suffering, I purchased a four-dollar lemonade, and a five-dollar Hebrew National dog from one of the festival's food scalpers.

With his food in hand, Colton took a seat at a table near the outdoor stage. While he noshed, a band of Hair-Club-for-Men-forty-somethings played covers songs from the 70's and 80's. A lone couple danced at the foot of the stage, obviously a little tipsy from their Magners Irish Cider. It was at this point Colton made a very pointed, very accurate observation:

"Mom," he said, "this whole festival looks like one big Cialis commerical."

I looked around for a moment, and realized he was absolutely correct. Liver spots, silvery hair, and dentured smiles canvassed the scene. The smell of Avon Skin So Soft mingled in the air with the smoke of barbecued pulled pork. And something that happened earlier; something I tried to forget, quickly surfaced to my conscious again--when I used the bathroom...there was a puddle of liquid on the floor at the base of the toilet. I told myself at the time it was a spilt cup of Zinfandel, but more than likely it was a living testament of some poor woman's need for VESIcare.

I wondered for a moment, how did my attendance to this event reflect on me? Were my artistic wanderings putting me on the fast track to Depends? The possibility of this frightened me. It was at that very moment I decided, next year, I'll skip the arts festival and do something more youthful. It was at that moment I decided, next year, I will spend my summer's sitting at home, playing video games, drinking Red Bull, moisturizing my elbows, and exfoliating my skin. That should keep me out of the living Cialis commericals--at least for another decade or so.

Right? Right?