how I know I’m getting old(er)
We have had this birthday card floating around in our stationery drawer for at least 15 years. Unlike me, it never gets old.
When I was a kid, I used to think that adulthood would ‘feel’ a certain way.
Well, it doesn’t.
I don’t feel mature and I don’t feel ready for half the stuff — loans, debts, licenses, break-ups, cellulite — that adulthood seems to throw my way.
Of course, at 28, I’m not geriatric yet.
But one glance down the main street of my city, with its parade of buttock-baring short shorts, reminds me that I’m no spring chicken any more, either.
It’s a bunch of these quirky little external factors that reminds me most of my advancing age.
How I know I’m getting old(er)
I often enjoy the company of cats more than people.
I don’t know who most celebrities are any more.
I can remember when phones had cords and when phone numbers in Australia only had six digits.
I start many sentences with: ‘I can remember when…’
I look at high school students and think, ‘I was never like that.’
The point of my day is to get a good night’s sleep.
I’ve started making dad jokes.
Sometimes I can’t recall what happened yesterday.
I can ‘shop my closet’ for retrospective costume parties.
I don’t get asked for ID when I buy brandy.
95% of my peers are married. (70% of statistics are made up.)
My first computer had an amber screen, which I thought was sort of cool and insulting simultaneously (at the tender age of five). Green was the other option.
SBS and ABC are my favourite television channels.
I use grownups’ first names when I speak to them.
I’ve started disciplining my parents’ bad behaviour.
I have to dye my roots lest I look like a skunk.
My two-year-old nephew had to show me how to use my iPad.
Petrol was half the price it is now when I got my driver’s license.
People come to me for advice about acid reflux.