I recently turned 30 and while I feel absolutely no different to a year or two ago, occasionally I have these little moments of recognition that time is indeed passing.
I was chatting with a colleague this week about a fashion event we are both working on. I said how young the models in one of the shows seem (they are all 16+). She replied “my Mum reckons you know you’re old when police officers start to seem really young”. Interesting theory.
A few months ago I was in the change rooms at the local rec centre and it suddenly dawned on me that I was old. Why? Because I changed out of my work clothes and into my gym gear without contorting myself into complicated positions in the name of modesty. I was suddenly one of those weird liberated changing room ladies I’d glared at as a young teen, my arm stuck awkwardly inside my Bonds crop top. The realisation that no one cares or is bothering to look at your de-robed limbs in the harsh changing room light is oddly freeing.
The ultimate ‘oh I guess we are old now’ feeling dawns when people around you start having babies on purpose. As a 30-year-old who only just stopped fearing teen pregnancy, I assume most people around me are also childfree only to suddenly learn they managed to get to work on time having wrangled two small people into clothes as well as themselves. Bravo! I struggle to get my own pants on.
Are you old? How do you know?!