being old sucks balls

The other day I stopped by my financial planner's office to talk about what to do with a cd that matured (I know. I have a CD that matured.) and the woman behind the receptionist's desk, who was obviously a substitute for the woman who is usually there, asked me for my home phone number. I told her that I didn't have a home number, just a cell, and she said, "Oh I should've guessed. It's the same with all of you college kids." I didn't even know how to correct her so I just said, 'Yeah.' and turned around and left the building.

Then yesterday, one of the other volunteers asked me what I was studying in college. And this isn't an unusual occurence for me.

Well, I may look young, but my body certainly isn't feeling very young. Today I'm feeling every one of my 36 years. Remember those commercials from the early nineties about the people who drank the beer that was crappier than Keystone Light® (as if there is such a thing) and it gave them this:

Well, that's exactly how my back feels. It appears that loving your mother is more painful than I imagined it would be.

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