|see...now, if only I were as tall and thin as that woman, I'd pull off a cloche; no problem!|
|No; you still can't borrow my notes, I don't care if you do show me your hooha, the answer is still no. Cover it up, it's 8AM for Pete's sake!|
I mean, some of these girlies are wearing next to nothing, in six inch heels, to an 8AM computer lab; no kidding. I just don't have the desire to hurt my feet and freeze my legs. I JUST DON'T HAVE IT IN ME! (uh huhhhhhh-exasperated breath). This is how I know I'm aging.
Flash forward to me and my 2:00 a.m. wake up call, this morning, and further evidence ensues. I'm sitting in a rocker (hello-just the mention of a rocker evokes images of granny-ness?) My eyes are burning from being thrust into consciousness as the baby cries out while I try to focus my sights. Focus. Focus on the baby, I tell myself. Confused, I'm rocking and patting mon petit bebe (probably looking like a spastic monkey on caffeine) when the thought occurs to me; 2:00 a. m. wake up calls sure aren't what they used to be.
This, my friends, is how I know I've aged.