- I just spent $62 on anti-wrinkle products in a quite likely futile attempt to stave off an inevitable process that I'm not ready to accept. At the moment, I am worried only about my face, but I'm sure it's only a matter of months before I'm whining that I feel bad about my neck.
- Recently I made a joke during an exchange with a waitress, and she just smiled an uncertain, nervous "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I still want a tip so I'll humor you" smile. I have seen that same smile on countless waitrons over the years, but never as a result of something I said. No, generally my near-elderly dad is the source of that. I had no idea I was so close behind. (Incidentally, the date I was with got the joke. But he said he knew immediately that our waitress wouldn't.)
- On a related note, I recently complimented the youngster manning the register at Target on his unusually fine and careful bagging job by comparing it to Tetris. And then I looked at him with a sideways glance and asked, "Are you old enough to remember Tetris?" Apparently kids still play Tetris, so he looked at me like I was insane. Or, you know, 63. Which obviously I am. Good lord.
- I had my first quilting class Wednesday night, and not only am I quilting, but my back is sore from it. I'm going to console myself with the thought that anyone would be a bit stiff after standing in a hunched over position for well over an hour because they're too focused on the new and unfamiliar task at hand to, I don't know, grab a chair and SIT DOWN? The alternative (that I'm so out of shape that even quilting is a workout for me) is simply too ludicrous to consider.
- I fell on my ass (or rather, my hip) walking out of a parking ramp the other day, and I have been taking tiny, careful, old-lady steps to avoid a similar mishap ever since. In a strange bit of coincidence, the emails collecting in my Spam folder lately have repeatedly referred to hip implants. As I am perhaps unreasonably convinced that Yahoo spam is freakily customized to my age and lifestyle (they know I'm single, they know I'm 30-something, they know I'm balding and unable to please women with my male member... OK, just kidding on those last two, obviously), I've taken the hip implant messages personally, thinking Yahoo maybe knows something I don't. And what they know is I am old and feeble, clearly. Sigh. It couldn't possibly be that I just need better shoes. (It seems I lied to The Scientist after all. My shoes obviously aren't nearly sensible enough--at least not when there's this much ice around.)
P.S. I'll post the answers to the movie quiz a bit later. I'm still a bit curious if anyone will be less stumped than the folks who commented thus far. (Note: Sign #6 that I'm 33 going on 63? Who says "folks," really??)