Wednesday, April 1, 2015


                                               Did Polite Go Out With Pantyhose?   

     At least twice a day, Mr. Wonderful and I say to one another, “I don’t get it.” One would think that by the time you’ve reached “senior” status, you would get just about everything. I would like to say that what we don’t get is the younger generation or politics or religious fanaticism, but that would be too easy. We don’t get manners, or lack thereof. I guess Ann Landers went out with reel to reel. 

     When we call someone or send an e-mail to invite them to our home or out to dinner, one would think that the person would respond. Nope. When I invite someone to a private party asking that they RSVP by a specific date so I know how to plan food and drink, one would think guests would respond. Nope. When I call someone twice, leave messages to return my call, I would think the person would. Nope. When we are invited to an intimate dinner assuming that there will be four of us and twelve people are there, we would have thought that the host would have told us. When we invite people to a function, we don’t expect them to bail at the last minute saying they “can’t make it.” We don’t get it. Now we know that couples have fights, people fall ill, company shows up uninvited, but these are not the typical reasons for what we label “rude.” What’s wrong with us that we expect people to be polite like we are? I know, I know. You can’t control others; all you can do is control your reaction to them. Yeah, yeah, but I still don’t get it.

     I don’t get why when the “Merge left” signs line the road a mile ahead, people still stay in the right lane all the way up to the front and just barge in. Is that stupidity or arrogance? One or both of my parents taught me to do “the right thing.” I think that’s where it all got messed up. It appears now that people do their “own thing.” These are not silly teens barging into the line; these are grown adults, some older than me, if that’s possible. One of my friends said, “They’re probably on meds or forgot to take them.” Hmm. Hadn’t considered that. 

     I don’t get zombies, selfies or huge bootys, but what do I know? I’m just an over-educated, overly-polite, overly-sensitive grandmother of ten trying to make sense of it all. Disney gets it. “Frozen” makes most sense: “Let it go.”