My eyebrows are doing that fade to white thing. Thank goodness for auburn brow pencil. 
My hair is even worse. The last stylist appointment, it was pronounced 60% white. Thank goodness for hair dye.
I got a questionairre for the date and location options for my 30 year high school reunion.
I got friended on FB by my first cousin’s grandson - who is old enough to legally drink.
We can all look on the bright side: getting old sucks but it sure beats the alternative.
You know you’re getting older when almost everything hurts. And what doesn’t hurt, doesn’t work right.
The three stages of aging from a sexual point of view:
Puberty to age 30: tri-weekly.
30 to 50: try weekly.
50-plus: try weakly.
When the teenager you’re talking to in the store calls you the local equivalent of “Mrs.,” a term reserved for older and married women.
When the cousin whose birth you remember vividly (cutest little bugger, she was) is old enough to start working on grad school.
When you’re older than your parents were when they had you, and you still view the concept of marriage with optional children with terror. (don’t tell them)
I still feel like that college student I vaguely recall being.
Ugh. On the subject of hair (TMI alert!!): white pubic hair.
Just shoot me.
A small portion of the kids born when I graduated (1965) are now grand-parents.
I think it’s great. I only need one book.
They all have husbands and wives and children and houses and dogs, and, you know, they’ve all made themselves a part of something and they can talk about what they do. What am I gonna say? “I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How’ve you been?”
hee. yep, the carpet now matches the drapes, which is all at about 90 percent these days. and no, it doesn’t count that i was prematurely gray at 25. 
on a less TMI note, everything creaks when i stand up or get out of bed. and i’m on joint supplements!!!
This is me, Spectre. I turned 47 on my last birthday. Dang, that’s OLD! But I still look at myself as the kid trying to fit into a grown-up world.
Anybody remember the “Far Side” cartoon where the homeless guy & cockroach are on the street with “will work for food” signs? The cockroach says that everything was going well until one day someone realized that, “Hey! He’s just a cockroach!.” Well, I’m expecting someone to realize one day at my job that I’m just a kid pretending to be grown up. When does ***that ***stop?
I used to feel that way. In fact, a few years ago I had a thread on this very subject. I’m mostly over it, but I’m younger than you though, so I have no clue if and when you’ll get over it.
In the thread I made, somebody said their grandmother felt that way, so maybe you’ll always feel that way. 
People ask my age and I tell them I’m celebrating the 42nd anniversary of my 21st birthday just to soften it a little.