I received a few shower and wedding invitations in the past few weeks for several young ladies I with whom I am acquainted. On the bus on the way into the office this morning, I was thinking about how to budget for so many gift giving occasions in light of my husbands impending furlough in the next couple of weeks. Trying to prioritize who was a must gift, who is card is enough, who I could do something sort of fun yet inexpensive and so on. It dawned on me that in every case, while I am friends of the bride or groom that friendship is largely through their mothers.
I am no longer friend of the bride. I am friend of the brides mother. I’m not young anymore.
Heh, yeah. Great example. I’ve not had to get them yet. Although I have noticed that I need the light on to read now and that I have to give my eyes a second or so to focus sometimes.
Well, I’m 40 but I still feel very young in almost every way. However, the last time I visited the doctor he mentioned that when I had my next annual check-up he would be forced to do THAT test. For a moment there, I felt extremely middle-aged. :eek:
Well, I passed the middle record speed. Assuming (hoping?) that I live to 90, I’m over halfway there. I don’t look old. Nary a wrinkle. I don’t feel old. I do have a deep understanding now of why my mom and other adults were so fond of naps, though.
Well for me, it’s not older, but entering middle age.
I’ve developed a gut. The typical one you see on older guys. Previous to this I couldn’t put on weight no matter what I did. I usually bounced between 150-160, now I’m 170lbs, the heaviest I’ve ever been. So I’m entering that stage of my life where I must battle with this thing. Middle age had begun.
Cellulite. I never had it until I hit 27, and all of a sudden, my butt and hips look like the surface of the moon. It’s not all that bad - my sister and mom have it far, far worse, and my sister’s about four sizes smaller than me - but it sure sucked to get it. And now I can’t get rid of it.
I always though it happened when I could no longer see shit, hear shit, or remember shit. But no, the defining moment came when an adult man, around 25, respectfully called me “Ma’am.”