When I was your age and I’d hear adults complain about the passage of time, I found it disingenuous – although I doubt I knew the word back then. Come on, time passed. They had to notice that was happening, how could they not?
Heh. Hubris.
Karma SMASH!
Ow.
One of my newspapers prints celebrity birthdays every day. I’ve been reading it for years, but I never remember any of it because it doesn’t matter. Like the comics, it’s just a break from the news.
Still, this means that every year around this time I’m freshly surprised that Ralph Fiennes is younger than I am, the way that every day I’m surprised by who is younger than I am, even though I had to have seen it last year and the year before, not to mention the year before that.
You don’t get used to this stuff. You’ve been warned.
Last Friday, the petite and very young cashier at the movie theater automatically gave me the senior discount. You should have seen how scared she was when Robert nearly laughed his ass off. I kept it, and framed the ticket. You can see it if you come over, but it’s not worth a separate trip.
My hair isn’t as gray as Carmen Dell’Orefice’s, and she is lovely, which I am not. The boomers are making it okay to be a grandma, which I also am not.
I’m just trying to get used to whatever it is I am, in time for the next evening in an Improv theater filled with 20-somethings who see the camera in my hand but won’t look me in the face. It’s not like my house is made of candy, and besides, I’m a vegetarian.
(Don’t tell them. If I can’t be cool, I can still be scary.)
The only wisdom I can give you at this point is that the thing about getting older is that there is no thing, you just get older. If you're lucky, and you remember to floss.
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