Discussions with a 20 year old.

On my recent boondoggle to Seattle with my mother and brother, the subject of age came up. I don’t remember the context, nor do I remember the content. Except that my brother takes joy in making me feel old. Not the ‘wrinkles, you have gray hairs old, but the ‘remember when’ old.

Age has never really been a factor with my mom. Getting older never really seemed to bother her. I never thought of my mom as old when I was a kid, nor do I now. As I recall, even though her sisters, 8 and 13 years older than her, were barely graying and my mom was covering her pepper-colored hair with chesnut brown hair color, she never really seemed bothered by it. Which is good news for me.

However, 25 is looking grim. It’s totally silly, I know. This is where my brother comes in super handy. He loves to say stuff all John Tesh-like:

Did you know…Titanic came out 10 years ago??

Did you know…The Santa Claus came out 12 years ago??

Did you know…so and so died 50 years ago TODAY??

Another thing that happened to me just a year ago, which I only thought happened to people like my dad who loves old movies and old celebrities: I was having a conversation about escaping odd situations with HubbyBee’s cousin who is 16. I said, “Ooooh, we’d have to pull a Maguyver move to escape.” And she looked at me and said, “Who’s Maguyver?” WOW. I’m actually that old where things from my past escape the younger people. Crap.

Which really eases my turning 25 mind. I know…it’s just cruel and unusual punishment. Soon enough BigBrotherBee will know what it’s like to have to worry about turning old. Or, more like having your ‘childhood memories’ treated as if they are priceless antiques that can only be found in the back of my moth-covered mind. Well, maybe I’m not that old. Yet.

P.S. Thanks to Steph for letting me ramble on her topic for today.