Aging

The realization that I'm getting older never seems to come upon me in a gentle, gradual fashion. It's usually less subtle; the kind of oh-crap moment where I stop mid-stride and wonder why, exactly, I ever had to discover that I wasn't actually the coolest person on the planet.

As I was shopping tonight (childless!), I went to Old Navy in search of some shorts. Have you SEEN how short the shorts are this year? I mean, seriously! I'm no prude, but I'm also not in college anymore and nothing that short should qualify as anything but a swimsuit. My oh-crap moment? After I sat back down in my sensible Volvo sedan and realized that my mother was right when she told me that one day I wouldn't want to wear the short shorts I thought were perfectly appropriate at age 18.

Not five minutes later did my next senior moment come. After flipping through every channel available to me at my fingertips, I lit on the *perfect* jam-in-the-car song. I lost myself in rose-colored nostalgia and sang myself up to the next stoplight. My oh-crap moment? When I looked over and realized that the guy in the car next to me would probably laugh himself into a stupor if he could hear me belting out Jessie's Girl in real time. (please note- I was in the first grade in 1981)

The nail in my coffin? I gave Rick Springfield the boot and found myself singing (with equal vigor) Elton John's Saturday Night's Allright for Fighting. My oh-crap moment? When I started to laugh.
JLB