Joe thinks he's uncool. *I* happen to think Joe is pretty DARN cool. He reads the latest books, is hip to the current music trends, and watches cool movies. I know all of this from reading his blog. PLUS, he lives in Brooklyn at the other end of the building from Heath Ledger. If that isn't cool, what is? Besides all that, I have to believe that Joe is cool, because if he's not, where does that leave ME?
I used to be cool. I did. No, seriously. I have the photos to prove it... me with my blue eyeliner perfectly applied to the inner rim of my eyes; with my jeans tight-rolled and the leather laces on my top-siders coiled tight. Later, in college... me with my funky shades and hot pink lipstick, blaring "In Your Eyes" so loudly from my jam box that the sound reverberated off the 8-story wall of Kerr Hall and bounced back, blanketing all of Kerr Beach in song; me zipping around town in my bright yellow VW bug, with the windows down, no matter the weather. Even a few years ago, when working at a hip store on the Boulevard, I was sorta cool with my manicured nails, highlighted hair, custom-beaded jewelry.
So what happened?
Last fall, a friend called and asked, "Are you watching Oprah? Turn it on! She's doing a show called "Women Who've Let Themselves Go." I tried not to be offended.
I married a geek (it's okay...he admits it, too), and I always thought I'd be the cool parent, hands down. But no. Dani says that DARREN is the cooler one. How did THAT happen?
I picked Dani up from school a couple of weeks ago, wearing pajama pants and sporting greasy hair. I prayed fervently that God protect me from any and all idiot drivers, 'cause if I happened to get in a wreck that day, I SWEAR I would not have gotten out of my car.
I drive a purple mini van, which to my credit, I've ALWAYs said I was too cool for. But I drive it nonetheless.
I listen to hip music, but don't be fooled... it's not because I'm cool. It's because I'm watching out for what I DON'T want Dani and my Fortress kids listening to. "My Humps", anyone? "Laffy Taffy"?
I admitted to the whole world wide web that I like John Denver.
I'm so not cool.
Once, a few years ago, Karen and I decided we wanted Starbucks. Cool enough. Standing in line, I saw that they had cigars for sale at the register, and being COOL, I bought one. I love a good cigar. Sitting outside at the dark table in the cold winter air, I tried in vain to get that thing lit. Over and over, I tried, striking the match, puffpuffpuff, to no avail. Finally, I realized that it was a chocolate cigar. Karen still busts into laughter when we recall that night. Looking back, I think that's when my coolness went right out the window.
So it all boils down to this.
If Joe's not cool, then maybe I never was.
Just don't tell my daughter. She doesn't need any more proof.