A few weeks ago we went out for a fancy schmancy dinner to celebrate a friend’s birthday. It became clear to me that regardless of how young we feel that we have all stopped checking the 25-29 box.
Tequila shooters, Broken Down Golf Carts and Cement Mixers gave way to a full-bodied chianti and the conversation centered on work, kids, and biological clocks instead of hook-ups, student loans and wedding plans.
Everyone silently cheered that dinner was over before 11 pm so that we could all be home and in bed before the stroke of midnight. We know there is no magic in being out past the stroke of midnight just brutally long mornings with whiney kids and/or clients.
While walking out of the restaurant we had to pass through the lobby bar. It was brimming with so many scantily clad 20- somethings that when I looked down at what I was wearing, I felt like I was channeling my inner-Amish.
It wasn’t just the sartorial differences or the gaping abyss between sobriety and inebriation that reminded me that I am
older more mature, it was the commentary from my friends:
“Wow, you can smell the desperation in here”.
“I think that girl forgot to put on her pants. Oh look, apparently no one wears pants anymore.”
“What’s with the weird facial hair? That guy needs to trim his side burns.”
Just a few days later, as I was listening to 90’s on 9, XM radio, each song a nostalgic trip down memory lane, it hit me.
I have officially become my parents: I listen to music that is 20 years old, and question the fashion choices of “youth”.
When did it strike you that you are not necessarily as “young as you feel”?
photo credit: bookrenter.com
When Ted answered the door to trick-or-treaters, he could not figure out their cosutmes. He knew they were dressed up as something, but what? As “eighties kids.” Yup. We are Halloween costume-worthy.
I know I’m getting old because I have to ask: what’s in a cement mixer?
At 30 years old with 2 kids, I find myself living back at home with my mom. The very same place that was the site of many an unsanctioned house party back in the day. This past week my mom went away. My friends & I joked that a house party now would consist of a bunch of adults sleeping by 9:00 and a bunch of preschoolers going buckwild! Instead of bottle caps, we’d be finding stray goldfish! How times have changed. The negative thoughts of cleaning up after a party far outweigh the fun thoughts of having a party.
9 pm! Are you crazy!? If I make it to 9, I consider it a wild night 🙂