Just when do we know when we’re getting old? Er, older? There are signs, actually, there are MANY signs. One of them I experienced just this morning.
My morning began like any other: I rolled out of bed to wake hubby up for work, tried in vain to convince the kids to go back to bed, and when that didn’t work, I resigned myself to getting dressed. Cause, really, who wants to run around the house in their PJ’s all day? Um…ME!
But no, I did the adult thing and got dressed (in a t-shit and jogging pants, but it STILL COUNTS!) My incident didn’t occur until I decided to be a McSmarty Pants. Instead of putting my brassiere on first, I put my t-shirt on, then tried to wrestle into the over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, (and trust me, this was like wrestling a drunk octopus for your car keys) and guess what?
I pulled a muscle in my back. I. Pulled. A. Muscle. In. My. Back. IN MY BACK!
I pulled a muscle. Getting dressed.
This is when you know you’re getting old.
Or, there was that time that I tipped over while putting my panties on, but hey, that could happen to anybody, right?