I’m officially old (aka I’ve become my mother)

 

Just recently, I’ve realized I’m old.  You know, the teenager looking at someone 37 as old kind of old.  My support:

1.        I sleep for exactly 7 ½ hours and wake up without an alarm clock.  I distinctly remember asking my mother why she didn’t sleep in on Saturday mornings and being told that she just wakes up.  I’ve now reached that point in my life.  I realize it’s only down that road that I’m eating supper at 5:00, going to bed before 8:00 and waking up at 4:30.

2.       My knee hurts walking up the stairs. 

3.       I don’t understand why girls wear tank tops with their bra straps showing and skin-tight “shorts” that I used to call “bloomers.”  Now when I was a teen we were really styling with shoulder pads, hair to match the width of said shoulder pads and rolled-up jeans.  We didn’t flaunt our goods.  We hid them tastefully in shirts 3 sizes too big.  (I think that I said “styling” automatically reinforces the title of this blog).

4.       I can’t eat whatever I want.  What happened to the good old days when I ate McDonald’s everyday for lunch and never gained an ounce?

5.       I actually say “I’m getting old.”

6.       My 43-year old husband says he’s married to a thirty-something like it’s a prize.  And he’s in his forties!   I’m married to someone in his almost mid-forties.  Nuff said.

7.       One of my children is a teenager.  My life is over.

I was once carefree. The feeling comes back to me when I listen to Bon Jovi or Whitesnake or Def Leppard, or New Order.  I don’t feel so young listening to Lil’Wayne or Lil’ Kim or anyone else with “Lil’” in their name.  (not that I actually listen to them).  So that makes number

8.        I like music from when I was in high school better than music today.  Nostalgia=old.

9.        My eyes hurt from staring at the computer too long.

Now I need my glasses.   Boy, I’m getting………..