I need to go on the record as saying that I am not a Scooby Doo fan. Never have been. Never will be. Much to my surprise (and chagrin), my four year old is a fan of Scooby Doo (or, as she prefers to call him, “Scooby Dooby Dooby”). Let me tell you, that is a huge leap from all things princess and ballerina. It has become a regular habit to get our last fix of Scooby before bedtime (hey, I’m only human) and last night was no exception.
Whilst doing my best to ignore “ruh-roh Raggy!” in the background, I poked around my friend (and she is my friend, people, even if we have never laid eyes on each other) Suz’s blog to read some of her archives (this is a must-read even if you are not subjected to Scooby torture). One particular archive entry really brought me back to the shame and horror of my teen years in the 80’s. The only consolation while reading this hilarity was that I was not alone in my goofiness at that age.
I’ve been rather nostalgic lately. Seems like every corner I turn has some vestige of my youth. I’ll admit…sometimes I long for the “good old days” when I was single and childless and going out five or six times a week. This past weekend ended that skewed memory for me. I finally faced and accepted the fact that not only can I not handle going out for drinks (especially on an empty stomach) but I just don’t enjoy it like I used to. It may seem so simplistic but this is a very, very difficult thing for a social whore, such as myself. (okay, maybe not whore but I was known as the Cruise Director for many, many a year)
It’s easy to get wrapped up in what you perceive as the “good ‘ol days”. It’s easy to glorify it and think you’ve become a watered-down version of yourself. But, thanks to wonderful bloggers and friends you can get back on track in a jiffy after reading hilarious and nail-on-the-head-accurate ditties such as this. (Thank you MJ….you deliver, once again.)