It's rarely a problem

What is it with kids these days? Now that I’m over 30, I’m cultivating my crotchety old lady profile. I can purse my lips with the best of them. If I’m lucky, by the time I’m 40, I’ll have those little wrinkle lines around my lips from my perma-purse.

My current peeve with the youth vernacular is the Gen Z reply to “thanks.” No your welcomes or my pleasures from this crowd. It’s “not a problem.” Thanks for the refill on my water-—not a problem. Thanks for making the correct change for my muffin—-not a problem. Thanks for going to get the size 9 shoes for me to try-—you guessed it. (Who am I kidding anyway, I’m a size 10). It’s as if the waiter, in his infinite wisdom, saw past my menu to the horizon of all the potential pitfalls and obstacles to placing my order for fettuccini alfredo, and judged it a mission he could accomplish, no matter how difficult. Thank heavens it won’t be a problem. It’s no wonder we’re a stressed-out society. As if it weren’t enough to worry about that our politicians are spending their time campaigning for the sanctity of marriage when the sanctity of life is being destroyed every hour in Iraq, there are obviously a bazillion little potential problems out there all the time just waiting to mess up our day. I’m just waiting for the proclamation from the decks of the next battleship: “Iraq? Not a problem!”