Here's how old I am:
- I remember when JFK was shot. I was three.
- I remember getting our first color TV.
- I remember the first manned moon landing.
- When I was in sixth grade, we lobbied to be allowed to wear pants under our dresses in the winter. Indiana winters are cold, and most of us had to walk to school. Although it wasn't uphill both ways because there are no hills in central Indiana. We were eventually allowed to wear pantsuits. PANT SUITS! They only come in polyester, you know.
- In high school, my class was the first to be allowed to use calculators instead of being taught the slide rule.
- I bought into the disco craze. Sorry.
Physically, I feel fifty; no doubt about that. The betrayal that started at forty has picked up steam, and my body is now constantly finding new and creative ways to mess with me. None of the things I took for granted in decades past still hold.
Oh, and I now have my grandmother's body from the waist down. And not the skinny grandmother, either. Thanks, Dad.
But inside, although I am wa-a-ay more battle-scarred and weather-worn than ten years ago, I don't feel grown up yet. I feel I'm not qualified to be fifty. I swear too much and am not nearly serious enough. I am way too silly to be an adult.
Plus, I'm a newlywed! By definition, newlyweds aren't supposed to be old. They're supposed to be young and have way too much sex, which is another thing fifty-year-olds aren't supposed to do.
The only thing that is really bugging me about this major milestone is despite my bravado, I have to accept I'm already more than halfway 'there', wherever 'there' is. And that kind of blows.
While I await the inevitable, AARP has my back. Did you know AARP.org has an awesome Games section? You think I'm bullshitting? Check this out:
That's hours of amusement, folks. Mmrrroww!