Kevin and I went on a date the other night. Ever since we ran out of conversation topics about five years back, we’ve been kind of quiet on dates. That’s how this one was going until…
Me: Hey. Remember Crystal Pepsi?
K: Remember jelly bracelets?”
Me: Remember Moncheechees?
K: Remember 3-2-1-Contact and the Electric Company?
…and so on. Without saying the rules out loud, we intuitively knew it would be over when one person couldn’t say “Yup.” It happened when I remembered the Uncola guy from 7-Up. Remember?
(Sorry the audio is so horrible on this video.)
Unfortunately, I got disqualified because I somehow remembered something from before my time (the commercial aired in 1975 and I was still in utero). I have no idea how I remembered something from before my birth, but that is some powerful marketing.
And so we continued, through shoes with kangaroo pockets, the Micro Machines guy, friendship pins, L.A. Gear, ET dolls with frilly dresses, Captain Caveman and Wrigley’s Doublemint twins…until I pulled these little guys out my memory banks:
Kevin–who was raised by TV and whose parents attempted to name him after Rocky* while his sister was named after Wendy from Peter Pan—stumped! By me! Me who watched as much TV in a week as Kevin did in a day! It felt good. ‘
Of course, K tried to demean my win by pointing out that Shirttails only aired for one year and he was four years old that year, but still. It was almost enough to not make me not cranky anymore.
I guess there’s not really much point to all this other than to remind you how few friendship pins you got compared to the other girls in your class. You know the ones.
As we were leaving the restaurant, I mentioned to Kevin how much more fun this game is going to be when we’re, say, 80 years old:
Me: Remember the porridge we ate for dinner last night?
K: No. I don’t remember shit!
Me: Ha! Remember when “shit” was a bad word?
Anyway, next time you’re at dinner with your significant other and you realize you’re the old couple with nothing to talk about, you can start by saying, “Hey, remember that one post by MrsMouthy?” And enjoy your following ten minutes of conversation.
*K’s parents were going to name him Rocco (after Rocky) until the grandparents weighed in and said they couldn’t name a kid that, so Rocco was demoted to Kevin’s middle name. Flash forward 30-some years to their great grandchild—our Rocco. For the whole first year of Rocco’s life, Kevin’s grandparents would ask during every phone conversation, “How’s the baby? And what’s his name really?)