I’ve been known to be a little judgmental.

It’s just one of the many book titles I’m laying claim to in the innards of my brain:  “I’m Just Saying What You’re Really Thinking.”  Shrug. 

So it’s actually with great irony that I must report how very publicly I myself was judged this weekend.

It came from a twenty-something waitress as she collected menus following our drink and app order.  We innocently asked for confirmation about the live music scheduled for later in the evening.

She glanced around our table and suggested that we might want to leave before the band arrived.

Excuse me?

“Well….they’re a little……” her voice trailed off.

What, we pressed.  Loud?  Violent?  (I’m a big music fan but I draw the line at some of the stab-your-grandmother music that’s popular.) What?

“Hmmm,” she shrugged, “Yeah, I just don’t think you’re gonna like them.”  She walked off.

Again:  excuse me?????

Detecting a challenge, we scrapped our tentative plan to move on to a different bar later on and got comfortable.  Claimed a pool table and kept the rounds coming. 

When the band began they opened up with an awesome Tom Petty song.  (Cue in confused looks at our table. Huh?)

For the next three or so hours they played great covers of everything from AC/DC to the Gin Blossoms.  I lost track of how many times I lifted my beer to say “THIS is on my I-pod, too!”

That waitress can kiss my Tyra Banks big fat ass.

Okay, I’ll admit maybe a few things could’ve given off vibes that perhaps we weren’t the hippest bunch.

Getting to the bar at 7:30 might’ve been a red flag.  I get that.  Young people, like vampires, repel sunlight and bars before ten.  Been there done that.  But I will proudly report that – once again – we were asked to “kindly depart” after the bright fluorescent lights had been on for awhile at last call.  Not a proud mother-of-four moment (is it ever?) but no one can deny our stamina.  It happens.

Also, sure, there was one of us who literally took out a speaker (and maybe a couple of bystanders) with a very animated fall on the dance floor (NOT ME).  Lacking the grace of Brian Boitano (funny, how these always seem to happen in slow-motion), okay, that could’ve shined a spotlight on us.  No one got hurt.  I think….

And perhaps hysterically fist-pumping on said dance floor was extreme (what?  40-somethings aren’t supposed to be up on pop culture?)…..  What-ev-ah.

You know what’s interesting, though?  Our waitress sukkkked.  Not just with her attitude but with her skills – we had to hunt her down numerous times throughout the night, usually finding her sitting with friends chatting (I know, seriously.)  YET we still tipped her well (too well) because we are a different generation that does the right thing.

It’s one of the many things our generation did right on that Saturday night.  “Our” gals looked great – unlike the crew of blubbery muffin-topped half-our-age- chickies next to us.  My (judgmental) thoughts on THIS topic:  What in the world are these girls going to do a) after childbirth and worse b) when they’re MY age when belly-stuff is WAAAAAY harder to control.  One young’un actually sat on a pool table with six inches of ass-crack showing.  She was not thin.   Ewwwww.

Another thing that set us apart:  we sat as a group and talked and laughed.  TO EACH OTHER.  At one point, a group of four girls nearby all tapped away on cell phones at the same time.  Having fun, ladies?

We sure did. 

Take THAT, kids.

-- Tina Drakakis