Over the hill

I went out with a guy last week who is a couple of years younger than me. A little ways into the conversation, I found out that he went to the same college as a few of my friends.

I threw some names his way. "Ms. B? Miami Nice? Ring any bells?"

"When did they graduate?"

I told him.

"No, they're too old. I might recognize them, but they were seniors when I was a freshman," he said.

"There is someone else I know, but she's really young," I said. "We're going to be in a canoe race together this weekend. But there's no way you'd know her." I told him her name. She's my childhood friend's younger sister.

"Yeah, we graduated together," he replied. Then he made a few jokes about the fact that I was born in the 1970s. Including one about the Civil Rights movement. It went something like this: "The Civil Rights movement happened not that long ago. It was just two decades before I was born. I guess it was in the decade before you were born." Snicker, snicker.

Quite the charmer. Still, I might go out with him again. After all, those of us who were born in the 70s can't be too picky. We're pretty old.