Don’t get me wrong – at 23, I happily recognize that I’m still a dewey-skinned baby with, as a conservative estimate, dozens of happy years (and probably a few total-bummer years) ahead of me. Still, if you’re only as young as you feel, here are a few recent moments that have made me feel like a partially putrefied corpse:
Checking “Ms.” on forms. Because at a certain point, having your utilities bills sent to “Miss So-and-So” flips a 180 and starts suggesting spinsterhood.
Making jokes that require Wikipedia citations. Back when I was an SAT tutor, I thought the five-year age difference between me and my 17-year-old clients made us practically contemporaries. Until the day I made a Lewinsky Scandal joke during class and my kids gave me blank looks. “Ohhhh,” one of them finally groaned. “I think we read about that in our history book.
Watching teen-trash actors of my youth become Oscar heavyweights: Heath Ledger, Will Smith, Ryan Gosling, Leo DiCaprio, Anne Hathaway. Can’t even imagine how decrepit I’ll feel when Miley Cyrus and Selena Gomez are up for statuettes.
Going to sleep in the PM hours every Friday night. Remember when Friday was a going-out night? Frig that! After a forty-hour workweek, I’m too exhausted to even stick a DVD in the player. Check the TV listings – let’s see if “Murder She Wrote” is on.
Chat Roulette. The who-what now?! Is it anything like AOL Teen Pool Party Chat 2? Count me out, you crazy kids.
Paying people who are younger than me. At the ripe old age of 23, I haven’t had a hairdresser who was older than me in almost half a decade. At least my doctors aren’t younger than me. Yet.
No longer recognizing faces in the tabloids. Taylor & Taylor? Kortney? Kendra? Who are these people, and am I supposed to care?
Alright, old-timers, grab a cheesecake and meet me on the lanai to kvetch about whippersnappers today.
Posted by TKOG of Not That Kind Of Girl
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