The first one happened in December when I looked in the mirror and noticed several obnoxious white hairs in my eyebrow. Guys, I'm going gray already. Eyebrows, really? That would happen to me. Now about a quarter of my eyebrow is completely white. Combine that with my pasty-white complexion, and I have to pencil them in or else children will start running for cover when the old Albino lady comes around.
And then there was the trip to the mall that really reminded me of my age. I had never set foot in H&M before this month. Not that I have anything against it; I just try to avoid the mall like the plague (another age indicator). But it's hard to turn down a gift card, so Caleb and I braved the land of hipsters, tweens, and that irresistible Cinnabon aroma. When we entered H&M, our first clue that we didn't belong was our confusion over whether we were in the men's or women's section. Where I come from men don't wear pastels and women don't wear over-sized flannel lumber-jack tops or combat boots. Also, I was just getting used to the women's skinny jean trend, but I don't think I'll ever be ok with my husband wearing them. And let's talk about the frayed denim look: If I want my pants ripped up, I'll just run them through a cheese grater, thank you very much. We wandered aimlessly and nervously through the store for about an hour before Caleb found something he could wear and still retain his self-respect. But it was miserable, and we're never going back.
