Walk That Way

Just got off the phone with my mom. She and my dad went to see a show last week and then went to a Mexican Restaurant in NYC. As they were eating their dinner, (I quote here) “an old guy with wrinkles, long hair, and lots of bracelets walked in” and was seated near them. Mom says he strutted in with two younger guys like he thought he was someone famous. After a bite of her mole poblano, she glanced up again, noticed his full lips and suddenly thought he was a cross-dresser and looked away, not wanting to stare at him. (Is that who’s buying all those wax lips in the candy store?)

But then on the ride home, the name Steven popped into her head and she asked my sister if there was a rock musician named Steven Van Zandt. My sister told her that Van Zandt was indeed a musician but that my mother probably knew him from the Sopranos. Then, she suggested the surname Tyler and went on-line to show mom a photo of Steven Tyler.

“That’s him!”

Poor Steven. I thought the Botox was working out so well for him. I guess not up close.

This reminds me of another sad story. In the late 80’s, maybe early 90’s, my parents were in a bar when a Stevie Nicks song started playing. The young girl standing next to my dad asked “Do you like Stevie Nicks?” My dad replied, “Who’s he?”

Ugh. Gotta get these two to some remedial courses. They’re only 63 for pete’s sake.

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