Once upon a time, when my college roommate was in the early months of her first pregnancy she called me up to say, "holy shit, everywhere I go I see pregnant women. They're everywhere! Why did I never see them before?"

Of course I thought it was pretty funny at the time. How much of the time, we only see what pertains to us. So imagine my utter panic as I remembered this little phone call yesterday as I stood in the parking lot of the grocery store and realized

I see old people

and they are EVERYWHERE!

And the worst part? The very worst part? They don't look so old.

It's over isn't it? Life as I knew it has rolled on to some other hip restaurant (where wild women are tossing back sophisticated cocktails while young Brandos IM them with illicit invitations) and I haven't got the address. And that's okay. I shouldn't have the address. It would be embarrassing for us all if I rolled in there. For one, I'd be wearing comfortable shoes. Second, I'd have two drinks and be looking for a quiet place to lay down-- in fact I might even ask the bartender if he could turn down the music just a smidge. Third? Really, are you some kind of sicko where you really want me to paint this picture?

And yeah, you want to know how a person knows when they are old. It's not so hard, really. Here's a clue--- ponchos are in. Ponchos. Are in. And you know what? Ponchos were in when I was in the 4th grade. I had three. And a pair of red hip huggers and Frye boots.

Now, as much as I loved my ponchos (and I did-- my dad brought two of them back from trips he made to South America -- and they were the coolest --and no, before you start thinking my dad was some kind of drug dealer in the 70s, he was there on legitimate business--well, at least I think so. T is convinced my father is in the CIA--but that is another story), I can never wear a poncho again. Not unless I took mind-altering drugs that made me think I was a pre-teen.

And capelets? Oh my god-- never. They were never there back then-- they are some weird Zac Posen-esque desperate grasp at fashion. If I see anyone actually wearing a capelet I will point and laugh just as we did when that other fashion accoutrement raised it's sorrowful head back in my poncho days: the gauchos. Oh yes. Gauchos. Which makes me wonder if sometime in the future the style will be gauchos with capelets.

But don't get me wrong. I'm okay with much of what happens when you get old I really like certain comforts and the knowledge that I am not nearly as much of a reckless, mindless, insane idiot as I once was. It's just the being young I miss. That, and my poncho.

got 2 cents?