Ping Pong

Tonight, I am going out with colleagues to a hip and groovy place.  Which means that the people who go to this place could easily be my children. 

It is part-owned by Susan Sarandon (as a gift to her new arm candy).  Susan is the only non-vampire that is ageless and gorgeous at 60+ years old.

Apparently, there are ping pong tables there.  Like in a fraternity basement.  Further indicium that I have aged out of this place.

Last time I played “pong” was beer pong in my sorority basement.  Actually it was slam pong.  My foot slipped on the mung beer stinking up the floor and I pulled my hamstring.  The campus police had to drive me to my various classes for two weeks because I kept slipping on the ice and re-injuring my muscle.  Imagine trying to go out frat-hoping and asking the campus police to drive you. 

Ok, 25 years later, I am going to a place — where the bouncers will probably keep me out because of my gray hair — to play pong.  I wonder if I will be able to finish that slam pong game that got interrupted by my fall so many years ago.  .  .  .

More tomorrow, if I survive.