Talking about Age

Last weekend, Joy's mother graciously agreed to keep both boys by herself. Overnight. While we were away! She has the patience of a saint, because I don't believe I would want to be on my own with both boys overnight, especially as I don't have a breast to give Noah when he screams out upon waking in the middle of the night.

But I digress. Joy and I were going to stay a short ways away and celebrate our 10th anniversary a little late. We drove over, parked, and walked up to the desk to check in. The lady at the reception desk began looking for our reservation and then looked up and us and asked if she needed to ask us how old we are. I replied that we were certainly old enough to stay there together, and she laughed about how we looked like a couple of high school seniors sneaking away from our parents. Joy responded that no, in fact we were getting away for an evening from our two children. A bit chagrined, the lady called over a fellow worker and said, "Come look at these two. Don't they look like they are in high school?" "Oh yes, replied her friend," and the conversation kept on going. If you've seen Away We Go, it was much like the scene where the airline worker won't believe the female lead is only six months pregnant and keeps calling over people to look at her belly and back up her judgment.

It was sort of flattering at first, though I really don't want to be back in high school, but the extent of the discussion bordered on the absurd. So it has had me thinking all week long about where the line about talking about someone else's age should be drawn. Certainly way before where our conversation finally ended.