It’s been an exciting week here at the Aarons household, starting with my sweet husband Chris crashing on his bike. And by “bike,” I of course mean the kind you pedal. We’re way too wussy to be motorcycle people. I mean, one look at all of our NPR tote bags and heart healthy dark chocolate collection should tell you that.
The injury happened during a big bike race in Blanco, Texas. Blanco is a huge metropolis about 20 miles from Austin in the middle of the beautiful Hill Country. It’s pretty much just like New York City, as you can see from this picture:
Right after the race started, some other cyclist knocked Chris over during a turn, causing him to crash into a ditch and break his elbow. Then The Hillbilly EMTs brought him to Austin in an ambulance (“Y’all, we loaded him up with pain meds! Heee heeee!”) and the boys and I met him at the hospital. A few hours of agony later, including five scary minutes when the doctor gave him what he called “The Michael Jackson Cocktail,” he was moved to another hospital where a wonderful surgeon gave him a brand new titanium elbow. Which means he’s basically bionic now and don’t think I haven’t heard that news about five f-in million times.
Overall he’s doing very well and has been resting at home the past week. Still, at least once a day, I hear him yell things like this: “Kids, get your butts in the living room right now! I’m on pain meds and I’m letting you watch an R-rated movie! Move it move it move it!” Then for the next two hours: “Okay, don’t say that word,” “Don’t say that word, either.” “No, I’m not explaining what that terminology means until you’re shaving.” “Well, kid, the word ‘balls’ has many meanings.” So that’s been super fun.
Unfortunately, the injury meant that he couldn’t go to the Hall and Oates concert with me last Sunday night. As some of you may remember, we usually listen to H&O on our endless road trips where I’m always regulated to singing only the Oates parts. Chris takes the much more showy Hall parts because he can reach the falsetto notes and also, he doesn’t want me to experience joy.
In his place that night was my friend Maria who was super excited to go and who even dressed in awesome 80’s clothes for the occasion. (Note: At our age,”80’s clothes” is quickly changing in meaning from “the 1980’s” to “the octogenarian years.”)
The concert was really great and Hall and the Oatestache sounded amazing. (And I totally sang ALL OF THE HALL PARTS, SO SUCK IT, BIONIC MAN.) The sold-out crowd at the Austin City Limits theater was on their feet dancing the entire time. Well, except for our lame ass section. Not only did we have someone pass out in the aisle from overindulgence and need medical assistance, we had the German Date Rape Twins sitting in front of us. They showed up 10 minutes late, wearing blue blazers, then loudly talked the whole time while they Googled Hall and Oates on their phones. Seriously, what the f*ck? That’s like Googling “pizza.” Nimrods.
Immediately after the concert, we made our way down to the Austin City Limits theater plaza where we were thrilled to walk into a huge dance party jumping around to David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance”:
Of course we immediately inserted ourselves into the middle of it and began singing at the top of our lungs. Then, as the DJ continued to play 80’s music for the next two hours, we shook our asses like two premenopausal fools. I’m sure we were probably the oldest women there, but here’s the thing about being the oldest women at a big dance party: you own the big dance party because you do not give a shit about the big dance party.
There were a few men there who were older than us, all of them with much, much younger dates. Maria kept yelling, “Is that your professor? You don’t need to sleep with him to get an A! You’re smart enough on your own, baby girl!” But I don’t think any of them listened because they were far too enraptured by their dates’ white goatees, 401Ks and Tommy Bahama shirts.
The two of us knew the words to every single song the DJ blasted, from The Pointer Sisters’ “Jump” to Guns ‘n Roses’ “Welcome To The Jungle” and we weren’t at all concerned about how we looked while we sang as loud as we could and danced like unstable bunnies on Dexatrim. But as far as dancing in a sexy way like all of the other women there? Um, no. After all, why bother being sexy when you could instead hop around like Ducky in “Pretty In Pink”? Any sexy dancing from us was by complete accident.
However, that still didn’t stop some 30-year-old guy in a polo shirt from humping my leg during a Rick James song. Maria and I immediately screamed, “Gross! You’re a sicko!” and ran away from him. He actually looked very hurt, which makes me wonder if this is the way men now court women on the dance floor. Please advise, millennials. I don’t get it.
Finally, after Maria had a beer spilled down her back and I performed some rather spectacular drunken dance moves to “Like A Virgin” (search for it on YouTube under “old blonde lady has seizure to classic Madonna”), we headed home knowing we’d totally ruled the party. Maria even took a picture of me that not only shows her state of mind, but mine, too—blurry, tipsy and having more fun than anyone who remembers when “Square Pegs” was on TV has a right to:
As Hall and Oates would say about a husband with a broken elbow, being the oldest woman at a dance party and a really, really long week, “it’s a bitch, girl.” But even so, it’s still been pretty damn fun, girl.

1. Speedy recovery to your husband.
2. ‘NPR tote bags’ gave me a chuckle.
3. I’m not a milennial, but I do vaguely recall dance floor leg humping when I used to go to the club, so…uh, yes, probably.
Glad you had fun!
I love you….and no, that doesn’t mean I want to do samesies with you.
Titanium body parts are awesome. Ella has titanium thread holding her knee together.
Neon L.A. Gear tote bags are still cool, right?
I’m thinking just a bionic elbow is a tad shy of the original $6 million Steve Austin, so all the best to your $6,432 man.
Wait…Austin — coincidence?
Wendi Aarons, have you ever tried the Alamo Drafthouse’s 80’s sing-along? It is pure heaven on earth. Original 80’s videos on the big screen, with song lyric subtitles (yes have been sing-screaming the wrong words for 30 years). Plus a full bar.
“you own the big dance party because you do not give a shit about the big dance party.” YES. This is the beauty of the 40s.
unstable bunnies on Dexatrim…. muaaahahahahahaaaaaa!!!
I’m still laughing over the first photo.
Whenver you get the chance to dance your ass off at our age, you best give it your all, y’all! Ohhh, ohhh, here, she comes…she’s a Maneater!!
Strong work! I’m glad you didn’t break a hip.
“And also, he doesn’t want me to experience joy”. My favorite line.
I went to a Hall and Oates concert once myself. It wasn’t as much fun as yours.
Trying to resist the urge to look up Hall and Oates songs on YouTube and stay up late reminiscing…
Also, I love Maria.
I love this in seven different directions. You know I’da been there if I lived in Austone.
So can we assume that once Chris has recovered from surgery, his bionic elbow will allow him to mix cocktails better, stronger, faster?
That is what I need to do ( 80’s dance party!!) Except the husband with a bionic elbow because I don’t even want to know how annoying he would be!
I don’t know if it’s the new way to court women, but I do know for certain that a Rick James song, regardless of where you are, pretty much requires humping of some sort. And possibly free cocaine in the restroom.
Hey girl. I dropped by from Suburban Correspondent and was so tickled I decided to read your whole archive instead of job-hunting. So if the bank forecloses on my house, it’s all your fault. Thanks for making it sound like a rational choice.
(I have friends in Austin and am always pleased to read Austin bloggers.)
“Any sexy dancing from us was by complete accident.” My favorite part! As a 20 something I can say that dancing has pretty much turned into a constant hump fest- that why I try to jump around so I’m not a stationary target and I could possibly hurt any approaching man’s junk in the process lol
Read this last night, but experienced commenting issues (okay, fine, I was too tired to type).
It’s been almost 12 hours since then, all of those hours accompanied by an endless, earworm loop of “Rich Girl.” And now I’m kind of pissed about my bank account, because it does matter around here. It does.
So glad Chris is feeling better.
I can’t even believe that I don’t live in the same town as you, or actually know you personally–I would have LOVED to join you for every single minute of this evening!
I loved Square Pegs!
I think the best part of getting a bit older (I’m 42) is that I truly don’t give a shit what people think. It’s freeing!
Love the Bionic Man story and the emergency back up date. I’ll bet your hubs would not have danced at the 80’s party.
You are a warrior for getting out on the dance floor with all those pups. You go!
Hope the hubster’s bones knit faster than it takes to grow and Oatestache!
Tell Chris I’m sorry to read about his elbow.
I’ve just had both my hips replaced.