70 is the New 30?

I’m pretty sure that I’m turning 70, not 30, this year. If it pleases the court, I give to you as evidence:

1. I really, really crave boxed chocolates. And I don’t mean Godiva… I’m talking Russell Stovers. I like to buy my own private box so that I can bite into each and if I don’t like one, I can put it back half eaten into its crinkly littler wrapper.

2. I don’t dance on bars anymore. I go to book club once a month as a social activity. And believe me, it’s a social experiment in its own little sector of nightlife. I have a glass of wine and some hummus on pita and discuss books.

3. I don’t stay up late. I go to bed at 11, even on weekends and I feel guilty if I sleep in late. The early bird gets the worm, and apparently, a less crowded dining experience.

4. I say things like, “Oh, dear…” and “Well then…”

5. I marvel at the fact that I will be able to tell my kids: I lived before the Internet. I paid a separate long-distance phone bill. I saved my allowance to have my film processed.

6. I’m already able to look back at my high school and college years and think of them as my “glory days”.

7. I wear solids. Neutral solids. Mostly black. All the time. It’s all I buy. To date, I have not purchased a moo-moo, but I am starting to see the appeal of such comfort. Although, I think they sell those in mostly florals and I don’t do florals. Maybe a poncho is what I need.

8. Oh, dear… I’m thinking about moo-moo’s and ponchos again.

9. I put on my pajamas immediately after dinner. That’s like 6 pm most nights. And I’m happy about it. My husband does the same, so I don’t have to feel guilty about being a schlup. But, let’s be honest… I wouldn’t feel guilty anyway.

10. At times, I’m just plain crotchety. No reason, no excuse – just crotchety.

So jury, I ask you: Am I turning 30 or 70?

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