Picture it. Montreal. 2008...ah what the hell am I saying?

Some days I feel my age more than others. Yesterday was one of those days. We had some errands to run and made our way, on foot. Hubby went in a store and I decided to wait outside. I stayed there, looking at people around me. It was a beautiful day and there were lots of people out. A girl walked by with her dog, which looked as if it was the result of a cross between a Dalmatian and a Schnauzer. It really made a strange looking dog. A young couple was walking in the opposite direction. The guy did a double take on the dog and said something about its look, and kept walking. As he walked pass me, I couldn’t help to smell the very distinct smell of marijuana. They were smoking a joint, just like that as if it was a regular cigarette, in broad daylight on Ste-Catherine St. I guess it’s true that nothing is the same anymore…

What ever happened to the times when we, as people, were intimidated by a police officer? When we knew what was illegal and were scared shit to get caught? I remember growing up I felt that I was the only one who had strict parents, and now I wonder if I was in fact the only one. To this day, I have respect for others, and for the law. I’m not saying that I don’t speed when driving, or don’t do anything wrong, but I still have this fear respect for authority and what it means… Maybe it’s because my father pounded me (literally!) with it, but I know the difference between right and wrong.

I remember having to dress up, every Sunday, to go to church. That was also the day we would visit relatives. I always wore clean pants, skirts or dresses when going out somewhere. I still do. Last week I was meeting a potential client. I made sure I was wearing pants before making my way to his office. I wasn’t comfortable to meet him wearing jeans. I only do bookkeeping, it's not like I was going for a top executive position. I realised as I was driving there, that those values are well rooted in me. Some things should not be worn. At my mom’s beau funerals I was shocked to see his son (a 50+ years old man) wearing jeans, bellow his belly, with a shirt that was so wrinkled it looked like it had been dug from the laundry basket. What a sad looking man, and I’m not talking about being sad for the loss of his father!

The way some people dressed I would maybe wear on a day when I’m doing yard work, and even then I would at least colour match, ‘cause I’m anal that way. You think I’m being a snob or judgemental? Too bad! I always thought there’s a place and time for everything, and plastic flip-flops are not the correct footwear at a funeral home, neither are construction boots. There is no way in Hell either one of my parents would have let me leave home wearing something like this as a kid. Even now, if I had shown up dressed that way, my mother would have made a snarky remark, for sure.

We just don’t care anymore. We don’t care about how we look, how we dress, how we act, nothing matters. We don’t respect anything including ourselves, others and it’s all good. Yep… I’m feeling like an old broad… can you tell?