Deep down inside I knew I was getting old. It wasn't a sudden realization, just a sneaking suspicion that I was no longer one of the young people anymore. There were subtle signs that were there but I could usually disregard them as maturity not aging. Signs such as choosing to go to bed before it is dark out, (got to be up early for work the next day) choosing to sit in the shade any chance I can get, turning down shooters because a hangover at my age would probably put me out of commission for at least two days, and choosing sensible shoes as opposed to strappy stylish sandals for walks longer than a block! As the gray hair went from single strands to streaks, I began to let the thoughts of approaching middle age settle in with surprisingly little fear and loathing....... until last week.

I have just recently changed jobs and am now back working with the youth of today. At the moment my part time staff are between the ages of 18 and 25 (my new boss is 28, nine years my junior, but that's another other story for another time!) and until 2 days ago I still thought I had it in me to be hip and cool with the youngsters until IT happened! In the middle of a conversation with three of my staff, one of them started a sentence directed at me with "Back in your day did teenagers..........? (you fill in the blanks, the rest of the sentence could have been filled with any action word) To be honest, I was so stunned at the first part of the question I can't even remember what she asked me.

So there you have it, clear as the Oil of Olay on my face, I am not a young adult anymore. It is obvious, the only thing left for me to do now is go drown my sorrows in a bottle of hair dye!