I realized at about 1 a.m. last night that I'm old. Yes, I have reached that milestone that I so longingly wanted to reach when I was about 5, insisted I had reached when I was about 16, and wanted to stop when I was about 29. I'm there at 32. I'm old.
What, might you ask, sparked such a philosophical thought at 1 a.m.? My new neighbors, who I call "the kids next door" had a party. These "kids" as I call them look like they are 15. She decided to wash her car in a thong bikini the other day, and her body didn't look much older than 15, either. But they can't be because they are #1 married and #2 homeowners. I am guessing they can't be more than 22, though. If they are then life has been really good to them.
So, back to last night. As they were setting off 4th of July fireworks (which is actually illegal this year here because of the severe drought) and drinking, smoking, and talking loudly, I found myself not longing to be invited like I once would have been, but instead irritated that they wouldn't be quiet so I could get some sleep. And after all, my husband had to work the next day.
Then it hit me. I'm old. How did that happen, anyway?
What age (if you are there yet!) did you realize you've gotten "old"?