When: Saturday, 9:30pm
What I drank: “Handcrafted Classic Cocktail” Manhattan
Maggiano’s brings a stage set Little Italy to the suburbs. And with it, a hard crowd to parse. Aging happens differently in these environs; women in their 30s have already been divorced, remarried and have children old enough to drive.
I would’ve pegged the birthday girl I sat next to–blonde, professional but weathered, all whites, nudes and beiges–to be at least early 40s, but that’s because I was using Brooklyn radar.
“When I was 16 I wanted to work in a funeral home, ” she said matter of factly to similarly appointed friend, finishing up dessert. Goth kid?
“And now I’m a funeral director.” Boom.
But she still wasn’t satisfied because she was “almost 40” and didn’t own the funeral parlor and never had time to travel. If things had gone differently, she may have never married the man she’s no longer with.
She also said “shit’s creek,” which I’ve always taken issue with because I don’t think the phrase is meant to be possessive like Shit is an entity who owns a body of water. It’s just shit creek like a creek that’s shitty. I’m open to other interpretations, of course.
Was I carded? Of course not.
Age appropriate? Of course. Twentysomethings aren’t exactly flocking to Bridgewater Commons for a night out. And though the 30somethings look and act a decade older in New Jersey, there were plenty of truly middle-aged patrons.
I can’t properly photo credit because Funeral Divas is no longer in business.