I'm Old. After all of those years of wondering why old people can't eat a normal plate of food, Marilyn and I split a dinner at Applebee's last nite and we couldn't finish it.
There's a bit more to it. We ate at a new place in Omaha, earlier in the day. Kona Grill. We asked the waiter if an order of onion rings was large. He said "there are only six". Good, we each ordered a salad and we would share one order of the onion rings.
He failed to mention that the onion rings were the same size as those rubber safety boots they put on the hooves of Grand Prix jumping horses. They were huge. The plate was piled so high, with six rings, that we had to move them to the side so we could make eye contact.
Now I know that I will begin to start complaining about restaurants putting out too much food. And I know they haven't really changed how much food they put out. But I've officially reached 'senior' status in some diners, 55.
It's my right to complain. I've made it. I'm old.