How I know I’m getting old

I’ve realized recently that I’m no spring chicken anymore. It started last Friday night. I was bored so I decided to channel my inner grandma and learn how to crochet. A couple of hours later, I found myself crocheting while watching the game show network. Apparently, I am 65 years old on the inside.

It got me thinking and I started to see how I was turning into my parents when they were my age. Here are some things I have said recently:

“Today’s music sucks! Music in the 90s was way better than this!”
“That movie doesn’t start until 9 o’clock? That’s way too late for me!”
“Why do they have to make this print so small?”
“Why the hell do people find it necessary to drive down my street with their music blaring?”
“I’m so glad they put speed bumps on my street. People drive entirely too fast down it.”

Also, I basically live in a retire community. All of my neighbors are senior citizens, and I love it because old people are quiet!

Now that I think about it, I already act like a grandma in a lot of ways. I love to bake pies and cookies, sew quilts, and knit sweaters. Plus, an afternoon nap is a requirement for me. And I kind of talk like a grandma sometimes too, using words like “spring chicken”.

It didn’t help that my eyes started acting weird and I went to the eye doctor, nervously awaiting bad news that I had some sort of eye disorder. She walked into the room and said, “You need reading glasses. It’s normal at your age.”

I can’t ignore all of the evidence. I am getting older. But until someone puts me in a nursing home, I’m going to jam to my 90s music (at a reasonable volume of course) while driving slowly down my street to a matinee movie and pull out my reading glasses so I can use the ticket machine. So there!