HOW old am I??

Nineteen. Nigh'teen. 19. ONE-NINE.

No matter how you say it, spell it, or read it, 19 doesn't seem like a big number. Compared to the gazillion numbers there are, 19 is minuscule.

So what got me sitting here feeling so old?

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A few weeks ago, I was on the bus with a friend comparing our songs on our ipods.

"TLC, Brandy, Ace of Base..." I read out as I shuffled through my songs. "I got old school hits." I explained. Thinking, it wasn't that old school, just from when I was little. A couple years ago.

You know?

"90's music" he said.

Duh.

"Those tracks are from 20 years ago."

GULP. "WHAT??"

TWENTY years?? My music is from twenty years ago. My childhood music. is old. Do you realize, that makes me old? Technically. If there's one thing I learned in high school, it's the transitive property.

If A=B, and B=C, then A=C.

If My childhood = 90's music,

and 90's music = Old

then...

you get the point.
 

So needless to say, that freaked me out a little bit.
 

But then...

the other day, I go to Starbucks with my mom. An unexpected trip, so I have nothing to read. I grab a couple of magazines from her car that look good. Travel, Oprah, Home.

I mean, they all have pretty covers, and interesting titles for the stories inside. So I get in there, and open up my first mag. I start reading the stories and the helpful health & beauty tips. But then I get to the fashion tips. That is when I realized I was reading a magazine for older women. Fashion is just different.

I just kind of laughed and read on, passing little reminders along the way that this was not a magazine for my age group. Such as the add with the lady letting go of a red balloon.. "Menopause, Discover how to let go." Oh dear.

But the little champ that I am.. I read on. I got to this interesting story entitled "Internet Intervention." Interesting... I thought. So I began reading.

Then I realized it was a mom talking about how to keep her kids safe with the internet. She wrote all the things she was afraid of, all the things her kids were doing, and all the rules she set to keep them safe. That is when I realized I was agreeing with her. Not only was I agreeing with her, I was agreeing with my own parents who did the same things with me. I was comparing her story to my parents and my childhood, and thinking about what I'm going to do with my children. Then it hit me.

This is how it all starts.

This is how they trap women into getting old.

Sitting at a Starbucks, innocently reading a magazine for older women. Then, I'll be thinking like the older women. Then I'll be dressing like the older women. And then...

I'll be the older women.

oh.

oh no.