That's how it feels to realize that you're 30. And it's about that cool, too. (Let's pause for a moment to consider Kristen Stewart's fe-mullet, shall we? I mean, she isn't even 30. And has millions of dollars. So there is only one explanation: Robert Pattinson is rubbing off on her. )
But back to me and my oldness.
I have lots of proof of my coming of age. For example, I have started washing my grapes. I can't even snatch a handful straight out of the bag without rinsing them in the sink, and I shudder just thinking about rat hairs (an average of 3 per bag of grapes) and grape harvesters going straight from Port-a-Potty to vine. Gross.
I never used to care. I used to just blissfully toss grapes in my mouth, tra la, as I put the groceries in the car. They looked clean to me, thanks. But now that I'm 30, I can't do that anymore.
Also, my car. It was made when I was 16 years old. That does not bespeak youth, my friends. Because "youth" drive cars that either a) bought by their parents or b) are so stinkin' old that they're retro and cool again. I know. Because when I was in high school I had the privilege of inheriting my brothers/grandmother's gold Dodge Colt hatchback. It was a fabulous stick shift that screamed "I'm too young to care! Bwahahah!" As a bonus feature, when you turned it off, it would turn back on again. Like Herbie. You literally had to kill it as you pulled into a parking space. It was the coolest car in the history of the world.
(RIP, 1980 Dodge Colt.)
My current car has none of the above qualities. Sometimes I have a certain impoverished pride in it. Like it's my own version of thumbing the powers that be and all their minions in pristine, new minivans and Honda Pilots all around me. That I am superior from them, in my bumblebee of a minivan. But in truth, I'm sure that it tells them exactly this: "I'm 30 and I don't care."
I'm suddenly obsessed about putting eye cream around my eyes to avoid the "signs of aging."
I will no longer eat dough that has raw eggs in it. Yech.
I find myself saying "Why is it so COLD in here?" all the time.
All fast food suddenly tastes like grease. I could swear that some of it, at least, used to taste good.
And finally--I have started actually, truly, trying to be frugal. And by frugal I mean "Oh dear! One more day until payday, and we're completely out of food! Oh well, I'm sure I can defrost this unrecognizable meat and toss it in a pot with this limp celery and make a fantastic soup. Ohhh...and while the fridge is empty, I can give it a thorough scrubbing! Bliss!!"
It is official. I am old.