They say age is just a number. If this is true, then my number is 9 — as in p.m. 9 p.m. is my bedtime if I have my say. I will claim I’m going to “read for a little bit.” By this, I mean I am going to scroll on my phone, check out Pinterest for projects I will likely never complete, and recipes I probably won’t ever make. I will be asleep within 30 minutes.
I recently enjoyed a special occasion that allowed me to dress up AND stay out late. I was out IN PUBLIC until 10 p.m. It was THRILLING. The event was a wedding. It was an absolutely beautiful day for a beautiful couple. I put on a sensible heel, a cute dress, and went off to enjoy the day. I was on my feet for a couple of hours. Then I limped for days afterwards. My knee was acting up, too. Do I really have a kitten heel injury? How is it that I wore low heels and now I fear I may be maimed for life? These cannot be the same feet that once ran the streets of Kent, Ohio, for miles from club to club in 3-inch heels. In high school, I LIVED in heels. Pink pumps worn with miniskirts, maxi skirts, jeans and everything else. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
Mint
I’d do it all again, though, for the butter mints. The special event was a wedding, and among all the beauty (it was stunning) and delicious food (plentiful), there was an amazing cookie table. Simply extravagant. Now you either “get” the cookie table or you don’t. Growing up in northeastern Ohio, I did not know of the wonders of the cookie table. As an adult, I moved to a region closer to the Pennsylvania line, and suddenly, the cookie world opened up to me. Google tells us that a cookie table is a wedding tradition primarily in western Pennsylvania and neighboring regions, featuring a large table laden with hundreds of homemade cookies. It has become a cherished symbol of community, heritage and love. This table was amazing. There had to be at least 3,000 cookies. I swear it’s true. On that table there were, and I tell you I gasped, HOMEMADE BUTTER MINTS. Butter mints are one of those taste sensations that instantly propel me back in time. My great-grandmother had them as a staple in her home. I do not know when and why we lost the drive to keep butter mints on hand, but I can tell you, we are worse for it.
There is something about that creamy, sweet, minty scent that just comforts me. All those amazing cookies, multiple tiers of cake, and I was almost in happy tears over … butter mints.
Smell
There are so many smells that take me right back to childhood. I think music and scent are tied directly to our souls. For scent, I adore Crayola crayons, Play-Doh, the way my grandmother’s home smelled on Thanksgiving — that hulking white metal roaster holding the massive turkey scenting the air. The fresh chlorine scent of swimming pools is iconic to me. My high school had a pool, so the tangy scent of highly chlorinated water feels scholarly to me. I’m instantly nine years old, taking swimming lessons, or 15 and smelling chlorinated skin and wet hair in the study hall after gym class. I can still get nostalgic over the scent of warm, purple mimeograph ink, and of course, those amazing mint candies.
Just that whiff, then taste, and suddenly I’m not more-than-middle-aged wearing unsuitable shoes, I am instantly young again. Mr. Wonderful and I even danced! Suffer for beauty, I always say.
Friends
I didn’t JUST eat cookies, of course. I also met some lovely people that night as well. Mr. Wonderful was the Best Man, so that left me free to hang out at Table 17 and bother the sweet couples seated with me. They were lovely. We chatted and bonded over the wedding finery, our shared adoration of our newlywed friends, and a tacit agreement not to judge the size of one another’s cookie plates — or butter mint haul. Yes, I did have eyes bigger than my stomach. No, I do not have a single regret. For just a moment, I wasn’t an adult at a wedding. I was a kid, eating butter mints just like my grandma used to have. I also wanted to sidle up to the open bar and ask for a cocktail of Pop Rocks and Coca-Cola — just to see if I would, in fact, explode.
At the end of the day (whatever time that may be), I may have aching old soles, but I’m staying true to my young-at-heart soul.
