You Know You’re Getting Old When. . .
It was recently my birthday, and in sending me best wishes my younger brother explained that: “At a certain stage it is no longer ‘happy birthday’ it is just ‘birthday.'” While I tend to agree with that statement, I feel no particular angst at getting older. However, I recently discovered a more worrying marker of aging, other than gray (and fewer) hairs, that made me reconsider.
I was in a supermarket and realized that not only did I recognize the music playing, I liked it. Lest you think this was some hip place that lays food items out in straw and uses artistically hand-drawn signage, I can assure you it was not.
[Indeed such a place would be playing classical music not the classic rock that I recognized.]
This makes me feel almost as old as learning those new CD thingies are thirty years old.
Notes:
Food items in straw, muzak turned to the classical channel, and those artsy signs are probably a good marker that you are overpaying for your groceries. You would not catch Sam Walton merchandising with such foo-foo nonsense.
I can (try to) claim that gray hairs make me look more distinguished, wise, and mature, I can see no such benefit in appreciating supermarket music.
