I Think I'm Getting Old.

I think I'm getting old. Seriously, I am. Well, forget seriously - LITERALLY I am. This isn't some sort of midlife crisis sorta post either. I can actually form a thesis regarding this problem. Because it is a scientific/philosophical issue, I shall phrase my thesis in a manner that would be appreciated by certain college professors whose name might rhyme with Farry Smaas...who also repeatedly reduced my grade on his papers because I refused to go against my many years of education to never write a FORMULAIC thesis that sounds something like this, "In the following essay I will prove that Farry Smaas is a phony asshole who wishes that his name actually rhymes with Farry Smudini."

And so, my essay...

I am getting old. In this essay I will prove that I am getting old through the following reasons: I am now a full 10 years older than my students, I was embarrassed to go into Hollister, and I found a long, random hair growing out of my neck today.

I am now a full 10 years older than my students. They were born in 1990 and 1991. I find that to be frightening. My difference in age is consistently accentuated by the fact that they do not understand my many references to OJ Simpson and Jeffrey Dommer. Therefore, I am getting old.

I was embarrassed to go into Hollister. I tried doing this last weekend with my sister, who is, I can honestly say, more hip than most people, including me, will EVER be. I was there to buy her clothes for her birthday (which was in July) (Why am I buying her clothes now, you wonder? Because, in addition to getting old, I am getting poor...but that's for another essay). Upon arriving at the store, we noticed that there were two stairs that led to the entrance, but my niece and her stroller made entrance via the stairs an impossibility. We had to open the "window doors" and squeeze past a display to get into Hollister. This was when I began feeling old. The clientele was 10 years or more younger than us. We left. Upon exiting Hollister, my sister looked at me and we had the following exchange:

Stef: Uh.
Me: I...uh...
Stef: Right?
Me: I know.
Stef: Like 12 or 13 at most.
Me: I know.
Stef: Where were their mothers?
Me: We're getting old. (Then, I walked away to investigate a white Jerzey sweat shirt with an iron on puppy and sunflower applique that caught my eye.)

Therefore, I am getting old.

While looking in the mirror today I spotted a hair growing out of my neck. I noticed the hair. I never thought it could actually be GROWING out of my neck. I went to brush it away, but it did not move. It stayed. It was anchored tightly to my pore. It actually required removal by tweezer. This would be an occurrence chiefly experience by little old ladies. Therefore, I am getting old.

I am getting old because I am ten years older than my sister, I can't go into Hollister, and because I found a hair growing out of my neck. Therefore, I am getting old.



SO THERE FARRY! YOU MAGICIAN WANNA BE! GO BE WITH YOUR FRIZZY HAIRED WIFE AND LEARN HOW TO WRITE A REAL THESIS!!!!