Most days I think of age as just a number. I’m 42 but hey I can still bust a move on the dance floor, although I need to pop a few Advil the next day. I can also lip sync Lady Gaga in my car with the best of them, but this completely mortifies my girls and they end up screaming, “Mom STOP,” in increasing decibel levels when we approach their school, our house, or pretty much anywhere they could be recognized in public. I don’t wear mom jeans and I actually wear skinny jeans. I love to go out, or really the idea of going out, because, let’s face it lately I’m happy to be in bed on the weekends by 11.
OK 10.
Despite my relatively youthful outlook on life, minus a few aches and pains, here are some things that are making me feel older than 42 lately:
- The Karate Kid is 50
- Andy Rooney was 92
- Some of my co-workers are young enough to be my children (should I have had children in my very early 20s)
- Some of my high school friends have kids in high school and even college or, gasp, who are married
- My 11-year-old dog and I are both taking glucosamine
- I recently bought muscle rub, Ibuprofen, and Epsom salts at the drug store and got a printout coupon about AARP membership
- My 25-year high school reunion is next summer







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