Mixed Up Orders From Hanes: Just One Sign of my Aging

I have said many times that I don't mind getting older, and it's true. I really don't. Getting older means being more mature, having clearer skin (sort of), and having the authority to be smug towards the young. I love aging!

But it's interesting how it kind of sneaks up on a person. You are going along, considering yourself to be young(ish) and hip(ish) and current, and suddenly you hear yourself saying "these Dockers with the hidden elastic waistband are incredible!"

You find yourself unable to come up with words for things, telling your three-year-old to look at the yummy croissants in that salad instead of the croutons. French is French, though--who's with me?

You get a call from the home-bound lady in her late eighties who lives across the street. "Your pantyhose are here," she shrieks into the phone. Yes, the mailman grouped all orders from Hanes together and put them in the mailbox of the person most likely to order support stockings. And yet one of those packages was yours. (In my defense, I bought white v-neck t-shirts as per Nina Garcia's recommendation, but the whole world thought "pantyhose" when they saw that Hanes package.)

You send emails to your sister titled, simply, "my wing tips," and show her pictures of yourself in black dockers wearing black and white wing tips and ask her if you can pull off a look like that.

After running a relatively simple Relief Society activity, you find yourself completely unable to walk, citing an old "groin injury" as the cause. And by "groin injury" you mean having baby number four.

You think to yourself, Gloria Vanderbilt hidden tummy panels: where have you been all my life?

When shopping for a new swimsuit,  the search words "tummy control," "shirring," "figure-flattering," "coverage," and "swim dress" replace the words "vintage," "retro," and "polka dots."

You have way too many pieces of clothing that are made of no-iron poplin.

 Out of the blue you finally understand why people might want to "winter in St. George." 

You "don't understand" the trends of the day, mainly because you remember vividly what it was like to wear them 25 years ago.

It happens gradually, ever-so-subtly, this realization that you are older.