Beneath a full moon at Charleston’s oldest jail, the lead singer at the Jail Break festival has a sexy, husky voice and the band has an irresistible rhythm that lures me closer to the stage. In the cool evening, the singer wears a flannel shirt and jeans. When he turns to the rest of the band, I automatically glance at his ass. Because that’s just what I do.
And, you know what? There is no “behind” behind him. His guitar is wider than he is. His jeans sag like a sail on a windless day. Suddenly I am very concerned about the lead singer’s nutrition, and I want to make him some pasta.
What the heck just happened? How did I go from shimmying near the stage to wanting to mother the singer?
As I look around at the gorgeous young things shaking to the music, I realize that my husband and I are the oldest couple here. There are a handful of others close to our age, but they have sensibly found seats away from the speakers and are eating barbecue. My husband and I are alone, ancient mariners in a sea of bobbing young lovelies.
We stay for a few more songs because the band really is good. And then we go out to dinner, a glass of nice red helping me bridge the gap between groupie and granny.
So, I’m curious…when did you discover your own gap and how have you bridged it?