Big Cheese

Ok, so I'm feeling older. I've got a kid, a family, a house payment, a car payment. I worry about things like life insurance, health insurance, and the fat content of the food I eat.

I stand in front of the mirror and contort myself into different "natural" looking positions that might conceal some of the "trouble" areas.

Oh god, I have trouble areas!

I've started walking down the skincare aisle and paying attention to all of those jars and bottles that promise to fade your wrinkles and make you look as young as the teenage model on the package.

I drive the speed limit more often than not.

My idea of a wild night involves staying up past the 10:00 news and a pint of Ben and Jerry's.

But perhaps the most terryfying and shameful of all my new old lady habits is the fact that I've begun tuning into the "light rock, official at work station" every night after work instead of cranking up the shock jock stuff of my past, or even the alternative, or the classic rock that I've always loved.

Nope, no more Smashing Pumpkins for me. Give me Delilah and all her sappy callers with their stories just dripping with cheese, and give me all of those incredibly horrible gooshy love songs to go with them. Yes. I want to get all teary eyed driving down the road and singing along at the top of my lungs to such classics as "All Cried Out" and "I am the Man Who Will Fight For Your Honor," or whatever the official title is. And can you really listen to that song and not think of the Karate Kid?

Don't worry young-uns. Your day will come, too. And when it does, don't say I didn't warn you.