They Said, "Athlete!"

Last week, Ol' Scotty P. and I went on a swanky dinner date with two other couples who are good friends we don't see often enough, even though we all live within miles of one another. It was fabulous. I got to wear a new dress I had just found for a steal and some fancy shoes, so already, even before the wonderful food and enlightening conversation, the night was successful in my mind.

But the food was absolutely, memorably delicious and the easy, breezy conversation filled with laughter. It was joyous. For a bunch of grown-ups, we had a way better time than I ever had at the beer bashes of my twenties - even if you could not have convinced me of that back then. This fact never ceases to baffle me, as I am just so darned resistant to classifying myself an "adult" sometimes, until I'm reminded of how awesome it is to finally be one!

Lest you think it was all stuffy talk of gardening and parenting tips, I'll just tell you those things did come up, between asking classic questions like, "Which athlete would you most like to sleep with?" Now, this is one of my favorite games to play, made all the better after a few cocktails. (Another difference between being a pseudo-adult and a full-fledged grown-up: You can afford the good liquor. And mixers. And you can order these concoctions at the bar, instead of having to stick to the beer special in a pitcher. I never thought I would see the day. Life really does get good.)

Of course, this is a good question because it limits you as to choices - versus, say, "actors" or similarly vast categories. I chose Sidney Crosby because he is a stand-up guy, lives with Mario, is sweet as can be, talented, cute, has a gold medal AND a Stanley Cup ring, and is Canadian. (I like the accent.) Plus, we are smack in the middle of hockey playoffs, so he graces my screen (hopefully) every other day or so. (And, on a side note, though my campaign to bring Big Ben retribution continues diligently and he did apologize to the city of Pittsburgh, we are not quite ready to throw his name into a conversation like this. Yet. Give it time.)

A few days ago, long after this little back-and-forth took place, Ol' Scott and I were watching the Pens lose a miserable game in the Eastern Conference Semifinals and he remarked, "I can't believe you chose Sidney Crosby over everyone."

I jolted upright from my sad, prone, Pens-are-losing-a-real-stinker position, "Yeah, but they said athlete! Not just anyone! Who would you rather I have chosen?"

He did not respond right away, but then said, "Yeah, you're right. They did say athlete. I guess that's a good choice." And we resumed cussing at the ridiculous play on the ice while willing the Pens to do better in Game 3. (Which they sure did, by the way, making it a 2-1 game lead heading into tonight's showdown!)

The point is this: We have grown up. Like it or not. Tank tops and pitchers of Bud Light in a smoke-filled bar have given way to fancy martinis and multi-course meals. (Most of the time. I won't pretend that you'll never see me in a tank top with a glass of Bud Light, but it is way less frequent now.)

But it's good to know that, even in adulthood, you can play a game like this one with your friends and you can stick to the rules of that game. And you can ponder over the answers with your spouse later because everyone is mature and happy to be that way. I hope that next time we see these dear friends, we can play another version of this game or one similar.

Because it's that sort of connection to the silliness of youth that lets me relish completely the joys of growing up, even if I sometimes don't really believe I have.