The End of an Era

The Best Love Story Ever Written

Lexi (nine years) came with us to a  party given by some American friends to celebrate that holiday they get so excited about.  I can’t remember what the reason is but they (the Americans)  throw large parties involving a lot of dead cows and sugar.  Thank god my friend V. was there with the strong tonsils and we managed a lovely loud rendering of God Save the Queen to balance out the evening.

Lexi got all dressed up .  It is not very often she gets to go to parties with Mum and Dad.  White leggings, a Milou tunic from the sales, a touch of blue eyeshadow, a couple of blobs of blusher on her chin, hair nicely streaked from the chlorine in the pool et voilà she was a nine year old babette.  And just as well because our friend’s son Joel (ten years going on thirty) is a little hottie.  His hair would make anyone in a band called the Nix, Pix, Bix or whatever the trendy group du jour is,  be proud.  Joel’s hair is flat with the right amount of nonchalent flick at the ends.  He claimed, after my probing which ressembled, so I am told, the Watergate investigation, not to use any straighteners or spray to keep it in place but I suspect a bit of Michael Angelo goings-on in the bathroom.

When the older children went off to the Fete de la Biere,  they sat at the children’s table opposite each other eating dessert discussing the Obama administration and the latest from wall street looking composed and intelligent.  The discussion on the adult table was breast enhancement and whether the exposed cleavage as  “accessory” is sexy or offensive and should be treated the same way as the other body cleavage (i.e., the bottom).  All of the women said no to a lot of cleavage but on reflection I don’t think any of us had one worth exposing, and most of the men were, as usual, iffy and a little squirmy on the subject. 

When Lexi and Joel passed our table on the way to play the Wii, discussing the climate change on the crop cycles in Europe our conversation had moved onto Michael Jackson’s passing.

“Were any of you surprised?”  Enquired a voice.

“Only that he was fifty.  Cor! That was a shocker.”  Came the reply.

When it was time to leave I went down to the basement to  find them exchanging business cards – only kidding – they were both bright eyed and laughing.  Looking in from the threshold I realised my daughter was in there but not my little girl.