I turned 33 last week — or “one-third of a century,” as my dad pointed out — and have lately been thinking about how I’m getting old. It’s a thought that’s popped into my head now and then, pretty much since I had my first child. But here I am, a one-third-of-a-centenarian, and the thought has been popping up more often.

Here are a few of the old-person red flags (see if any of these sound familiar):

  • I get pissed at the young hooligans hanging around the playground when I bring my kids there to play. I’m particularly annoyed at their smoking, cursing, texting and sullen looks. Kids these days! No respect.
  • My 95-year-old grandma sends me jokey birthday cards about how we’re both old ladies now, ha-ha. What???
  • The thought has crossed my mind that a van might be a good vehicle for us to have. A van!
  • Going out past 10 p.m. seems unthinkable to me.
  • When I’m around young folks (you know, in their 20s), I refer to TV shows only to learn they’ve never seen or heard of them. (WKRP in Cincinnati, One Day at a Time, The A-Team, to name a few.)
  • I find myself bending over quite frequently and exclaiming, “Oh, my aching back!” It really hurts, ever since I birthed that last baby.
  • I’m really, really envious of retired people.

So there you have it. I’m on my way to becoming an A.P. (Aged Parent). What the hell?

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