Getting old, or maybe not...

I always wondered when one was actually considered old, and I now know that it is when you hit 36. I crossed that line about a week ago, and for the first time, I received a 'You're getting old" birthday card. Actually, I received three. Note to self: don't give those cards to friends, even those you know well; they may be having a bad day. And I noticed three distinct lines on my forehead which seemed to appear out of nowhere. I thought I was hallucinating, but I checked a close up photo of myself from a few months ago, and low and behold, they were not there. Apparently, when I hit this most recent birthday, my DNA sent out an all-points-bulletin: "OK, boys, she's old, release the wrinkles!" Lastly, at a recent planning for an upcoming fund-raiser for the local arts council, I was told that they have a special program for "young" donors....which they defined as anyone 35 and under. Ouch.

What's interesting about all of this is that it has made me reflect on how I feel about aging, really for the first time in my life. I suppose this is a good thing; there are plenty of ladies doing Botox and chemical peels in the early twenties. Back then, I didn't give a hoot about all this. I saw my mom and grandma still looking pretty good in the 60's and 80's, respectively, and cast my lot with genetics. I still do.  I suppose that getting concerned about it in my mid-thirties seems to be fairly level-headed by comparison. Still,  I'm not ready to inject botulism into my forehead just yet. But I may feel differently if I start to get offered senior discounts any time soon.