Ah, the wristband. Once upon a time, when I was in college it was the mark of the legally of-age in the dance club. If you were underage then they would write huge Xs on your hands with a big fat black marker so the bartenders couldnít miss it. However, this also had the added bonus of alerting the drink-buying patrons who they could and could not buy a drink for.
I spent most of my time dancing, which was primarily why I went out. I also preferred being the designated driver (DD), which also made me the default cover girl. That meant it was my job to either exaggerate affection for one of my friends trying to fend off overly amorous attentions or just stick close. My very presence tended to be enough to ward off unwanted advances. Apparently, I was considered intimidating.
The years have passed since those days, and though I still love to dance Iím not so fond of the dance club settings anymore, not even with my husband. Wristbands still appear in my life from time to time, but they donít mean what they used to.
Now a days wristbands mark me as a parent with kids in the gym daycare. While Iím sweating buckets and turning red I get to wear a super cool wristband so everyone can see at a glance one of my biggest motivators. No one ever looks at my wrist band and asks if they can by me a power smoothie at the juice bar. Or maybe I’m still intimidating.
I donít really feel bad about it. Itís just one of those things. But itís funny how things have changed. Things take on different meanings. Once a wristband meant, ďHey, Iím over 21.Ē Now it means, ďDude, I have kids.Ē Wonder what it might mean in another decade or so.