This evening after work I went to a CASA in-service thing. Kind of like continuing education or whatever. They pick a speaker and a topic; tonight was sensory integration and dysfunction thereof. Not really important, I guess, but it was interesting. Anyhow, they fed us dinner, it’s casual, held in this little room in the facility where they do various therapies for little really kids, birth to three years. So they have several chairs set up around the perimeter of the room, but apparently there aren’t enough big people chairs in the place, so there are also several “cubby chairs”, these plastic blocks that you can sit on and put your shoes or whatever in the little cubby on the bottom. I was lucky enough to get a real chair, but they quickly became scarce. Of course all us younger people try to give our seats to the older or less spry CASAs, but not one accepts. So I’m sitting next to this teeny tiny little old man, cute as shit, right? Totally grandfatherly, horseshoe-bald and silver haired, glasses, snowy beard but so…wee. He wouldn’t be Santa Claus, he’d be like the smiley head elf, and his wife (she’s a CASA, too) would be like the chief cookie baker. Oh yeah, there were cookies, too. Balla. So we’re munching our sandwiches and he goes for his bag of chips. I’m like, awesome, I won’t be the only one crunching while the speaker’s speaking. I try not to look over, but after a while he’s still crinkling and not yet crunching, so I glance. He’s whipped out a pocket knife and is ever so neatly slicing along the top seam of the bag. I don’t know why, but that just tickled me to no end. Really, it’s another glimpse of how getting old must suck, not having the finger strength to pry into a bag of Lay’s. And yes, it’s just a pocket knife, but it was still completely out of perceived character to me. Like Santa’s elves brandishing switchblades. Awesome.