Age used to be important to me. I could hardly wait to be six to go to school, thirteen to be a teenager, eighteen to be legal and twenty-one to be everything else. Now I'm at a point in my life when I think age is just a number - and like other numbers, I forget them.
I remember my mother referring to the guys I dated as young men. Now I'm referring to men under thirty as young men too. I don't know when my perspective changed. Maybe it was the same time men under thirty started calling me mam.
The longer I live, the shorter my memory gets. I go upstairs and forget why I went. Someone's name is on the tip of my tongue and that's where it stays. There are more post-its around the house than there ever were PTA notices. Thankfully, my husband understands. He puts his arm around me and says those three, little words I need to hear - write it down.
The older I get, the more I forget - which could be a symptom of SDS - Seventh Day Syndrome. If God hadn't rested on the seventh day, he could have changed a few things. We could have been born old and got younger every year. Instead of forgetting, we'd know more. In fact, we'd know more than our parents - which is what we thought.
The older I get, the faster time seems to pass. When I asked my grandmother if she thought this phenomenon was caused by a chemical change in the brain and if she experienced it too, she said she used to until she stopped wasting time worrying about it.
Now I walk errands instead of run them. I don't try to keep up with the Joneses or try to climb the social ladder because I'm rung out. I don't mind standing in line because it gives me time to remember what else I was meant to buy. The only lines I worry about are worry lines; and if I need to lift my spirits, I use my love handles.
KNIGHT PIERCE HIRST takes humorous looks at life. Take a minute to make yourself smile at http://knightwatch.typepad.com
Tags: humor, women, men, age, culture and society