Friday’s Truths: Do these pants make my age look big?

Age seldom arrives smoothly or quickly. It’s more often a succession of jerks.
– – – – Jean Rhys

I knew it would happen someday.  Somewhere along the line, I got old.

Okay, yes, I know.  I’m not really that old.   I’m 44 – in the grand scheme of things, that’s still considered young.  What is it they say?  “40 is the new 30.”  Or something like that.  Well, in my world, 40 is the same damned old 40.  This is a pretty recent revelation for me.  I’ve discovered a few ways that tell me I’m getting older.

  • Hop in my car with me sometime and you have a 50/50 chance of hearing news radio.  For decades, I resisted news radio, only listening to it when riding in my mother’s car – her car, her choice.  News radio was for old people who couldn’t find the “oldies” station.  But lately I have found that there’s some comfort in listening to news/talk radio.
  • Part of my daily routine includes taking glucosamine and fish oil tablets.  Yes, I’ve hit the age when I need supplements to help out the joints and cholesterol levels.  (Throw in some calcium, magnesium, iron, and zinc and it’s a mineral smorgasbord!)
  • I was over-the-moon excited about seeing Donnie and Marie last December and if Connie Francis (bless her) were to ever hit the stage in – or anywhere near – Chicago, I’d be one of the first in line to buy tickets.
  • Often stray hair is found in various places throughout the house.  That’s what happens when there are 2 women with long hair in the same house.  Sometimes I’ll declare that the hair isn’t mine and must be my mother’s because, “hey, it’s grey hair!”  All she has to do is raise one eyebrow and I back down, admitting that it’s probably mine.  (This is why I need to get my hair colored…stat!)
  • “Ugh!  My sciatica is acting up again.”
  • My niece is graduating high school and going to college.  Now, I know this isn’t really a big deal for many people, but it really is for me.  Unfortunately, I don’t get to see her often.  In fact, I saw her when she was 2, when she was 12, and when she was 17.  Our meeting when she was 12 is what stands out most for me – it’s the age when she actually realized who I was and was able to have a conversation with me.  So now, this absolutely stunning young woman who is about to become a Tarheel just amazes me – and makes me realize that I’m the one who is getting older.  (Seeing how down-right beautiful she is makes me proud to be from the same gene pool.)
  • I’ve become addicted to cardigans.
  • “Going out” no longer means meeting friends at happy hour or going to a pub or a movie.  Now it means going to my aunt’s house to hang out with my cousins and talk about their kids.
  • My cousins believe I’m mature enough to serve as godmother to their children.
Perhaps the most daunting sign that I’m getting older is that I’ve used the following phrase:  “Hey, Kids!  Get off my lawn!”  ‘Nuf said.

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