The poet says that it is good to grow younger towards your death. I think I am regressing. Evidence? Tonight. Sitting with in a Cambridge restaurant after a movie…I’m a bit bored. My tablemates are texting and talking techie stuff. Dinner is over and I’m waiting for the bill. Listening to overhead speakers rolling 80’s rock music. Not the best decade. Our pierced (eyebrows, lips, tongue and nose) and goth-like waiter has disappeared and the bill is too long in coming. I’m tired and ready for sleep.

Then the beat overhead is familiar and Madonna starts playing “Material Girl”. I drum the percussion part on the Formica tabletop. Beat picks up, I pound louder and start to sway and sing along. I know I’m sliding down that slippery slope towards inappropriate behavior….then, what the hell. Jump up and say “let’s dance”. Friends at the table laugh but look a bit dismayed. But our waiter suddenly appears! With our bill and a big smile. That surly creature, who was slow and bored with all of us….He suddenly appears at my side, shimmeys and sways. Graps my hand, twists and twirls. We dance and boggle in the aisle, ‘til the song ends with a sharp beat and our hands high-fivin’. Middle aged, 55 year old me and 23 (tops) tattooed dude find common ground.