Lately, I’ve seen a lot of men my age (ahem, 43) posting about errant ear hairs. Ear hairs! This is supposed to happen when they’re, like, 70, right? I mean, I want to be sympathetic but ear hairs are the devil’s work, indeed. Then it happened. I got out of the shower the other day and saw something that changed my life. You know – the kind of event that your life will ever be marked “before” and “after” this event. Guys – I found a gray pube! Come on, I’ll take ear hair over that any day! I yanked that sucker out and prayed silently to God that this never happen again. Never! There are some more innocuous ways that you realize you’re getting older, though, like the following:
- You choose to read Good Housekeeping at the hair salon instead of Cosmo. You already know how to give a good blowjob—you just choose not to. But recipes with only five ingredients? Sign me up!
- You wanted to partake in the crazy hair phase but you were afraid people would call you out on it. Damn, you just know you would have looked cool with pastel rainbow ombre! You also linger around the piercing/tattoo studio and look in longingly, knowing your window is shrinking (or completely gone) for you to get away with this.
- You realize you’d rather pay more for some things. Things, like wine, beer, shampoo, and sushi. Cheap sushi is suspect AF.
- Pajama time gets earlier and earlier every day. And every time you do laundry, it’s nearly ¾ pajamas … and not sexy time PJs either, but the flannel kind that are six sizes too big for you. You’re not above footie pajamas. Your lucky spouse!
- You recall those days when you hated walking by a huge construction crew wearing a mini skirt because you knew the cat calls were coming. Now you’d give a million dollars for one little whistle.
- Your favorite time to go out is 5 pm (really, 4:30) but, on the rare occasion you go to a concert or something else that demands a late night, you drink about 45 red bulls despite the high risk of heart attack.
- You’ve clucked your tongue at something a younger person was wearing, which is akin to yelling at kids to get off your lawn and calling the cops on a raucous party.
- Your favorite drink is a skinny marg, and you tell everyone that, much like Diet Coke, you really like the taste better and that regular margaritas now taste super sweet to you. You are completely lying.
- You cannot work out nearly as hard as you used to and scoff at the people doing all that silly high intensity shit during class. *Clucks tongue at your fellow classmates’ tiny workout gear.
- You’ve licked your finger and used that finger on your child’s face to clean something off of it. You have officially become your mother.
- If you haven’t gotten Botox yet, you’ve googled it a thousand times and have perhaps started a Botox fund. Smile lines, my ass.
- You’re exhausted all the fucking time. You’re convinced that someone has started sneaking into your house and switching your coffee for decaf—the scourge of humanity.
- Your FOMO has turned into FOGO. The lines! The high priced drinks! And all those people! Ugh. No, thank you. *Puts on PJs*
- Sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror at about 3 pm and can’t believe you left the house looking like that, let alone gone grocery shopping, to the mall, and more.
- Netflix and Chill has no double meaning for you. It’s more like “Netflix and Slip Into a Light Coma.”
Marnie is a freelance writer, lyrical prankster, and mom to two boys – Finn, 6, and Declan, 4. She started out as a Copywriter for FOX’s americanidol.com and has since written for sites like LivingSocial, Red Tricycle, and Wetpaint. Marnie has also been published twice in San Diego Magazine’s “best of” segments. Her writing on parenting has been featured several times on the popular Scary Mommy blog and on Disney’s parenting website, Babble. This busy North County San Diego resident also hosts a mommy blog called LoveButBlog, which takes a rather irreverent look at the trials of motherhood and marriage.
On top of raising two nutty boys, she wrangles two portly pugs named Olive and Fred. When she’s not writing or wiping noses and buns, she’s working out, indulging in her trashy TV addiction with her equally addicted husband, cracking a bottle of Malbec, or fantasizing about her dream trip to the Amalfi Coast in Italy. Find her socializing the media on Facebook and Twitter.