Feast Week

It’s Fleet Week here in New York, and as I am lover of men in uniform, it has been a banquet feast for the eyes.

I only look, though.

The other day I ran into a group of military men at the corner café near my office. I saw a group of them at the breakfast bar as I paid for my coffee at the cashier station. They were all decked out in uniform. I sighed to myself as I left the deli.

One of the military men stopped me outside the door.

“Hi!” he said.

“Hello,” I replied.

“Are you Filipino?”

“Yes, I am.”

He smiled. “I knew it! I saw you inside the café and I wondered if you were Filipino. I love Filipino people! I was in Manila for awhile. I was stationed there, you see, and they were the nicest people I have ever encountered.”

“Some are, yes. They’re all especially nice to soldiers.” I joked with him.

We talked for a few minutes outside of the café. Essentially, he asked me out on a date. As much as I was flattered by his attention, I politely refused.

The thing is, he looked so damn young. I mean, when the hell did they start recruiting them so young? Or am I just getting old?

Before I left, I asked him his age. Just to make sure. As I suspected, he was way young.

Unseemly young.

I told him I was old enough to be his mother. He seemed genuinely shocked.

“But I thought you were my age.”

Thanks, Kid. You don’t even know how you just made my week.

“I still got it.” I thought to myself. I mentally patted myself on the back and went to work that day with a smile on my face.

Man, do I love Fleet Week.