Getting Old

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There is nothing as effective for showing your age as attempting to hang out in a tent clubhouse whose dimensions measure two feet wide by four feet long by three feet high. Especially if that clubhouse is on a cement floor and also has one three year old, eight pillows, four large board books, a puzzle, two animal flashlights, and a pirate ship.

After crawling through the teeny opening, trying to read in the shadowy darkness, conduct an imagined dialogue between a mean pirate and a hungry dinosaur, providing the stabilizing force on the pile of pillows that is the landing pad, and climbing out, I feel like I've aged 65 years.

I guess it is okay for me to be old, I have enough stories for me to tell while sitting in a rocking chair..."When I was your age, I had to tear off the crusts on my own sandwiches! And I never got to watch Barney or Wiggles! And worst of all, I never ate Kraft Macaroni and Cheese! Oh, the horrors."

Comments

caedmonstia said…
I think that those sorts of things make me feel younger. Imagine my blossoming youth on Sunday afternoon, for instance, when my new 3-year-old boyfriend Evan ("You're soooo pretty," he says to me everytime he sees me) invited me to play pirate ship with him. I don't really know how it all went down, because I couldn't understand anything he said, but I believe we had many adventures.
4:43 PM
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