Jamie's genes had churned out pretty redheaded daughter after pretty redheaded daughter, so you know, maybe he had good genes going for him or he was like, the pancake you tossed after you were getting started. The error. Pancakes would have been so good right now and Jamie didn't inhale grease so much these days but he remembered doing it.
"Well it's not going to turn the clock back." Ballet. He liked the old people. Okay, so he liked the young people too, the really tiny ones who turned up and took it all so seriously but the old people had the kind of grace you learned to lean into. It was the kind of old Jamie wanted to be: zen.
"Try three years, man." Jamie leaned back onto his seat with satisfaction. "Thirty, if I'm you know, it's sex. I think I've got a good thirty-five, at least. But dance? Yeah, three. I'll be a reject and my ass will push me over the hill if it gets any bigger. The grandma butts? They wear the little froofroo skirts." He demonstrated with his fork, the way the skirts twirled out, for emphasis.
"God, that looked good." The decimation of Sid's plate. "Wait, wait. I want to pretend I just inhaled that, like you did. Just give me a sec."