I like to think I’m not really that old yet. Sure, my dyed hair reveals a whole lot more tinsel in the roots these days, but I’m not old, yet, am I?
And then I spend thirty minutes sitting cross-legged on the floor while wrapping the few Christmas presents I have for under the tree and every bone in my body goes, “Holy cow, you’re ancient!”
At those family gatherings where there are more people than chairs, I will gladly park myself on the floor instead of one of the random dining chairs being dragged into the living room.
Rather, it’s because trying to have a grown-up conversation with a great aunt who still thinks of me as a child is hard when my feet are literally swinging from the too-tall chair. It’s not a fun time.
Maybe that’s the key! I should wrap gifts with my older aunts and uncles around so that when I stand up afterwards they can hear my spine scream in pain while my kneecaps pop in protest.
