Now I'm Really 50

Sometimes it takes a while for a birthday to sink in. When I turned thirty, it was great--I felt like a real adult, that I had truly arrived. Forty was difficult--it meant that I was definitely middle-aged. Fifty was okay; I am resigned to the fact that there are wrinkles and aches and pains, but last night I really and truly realized that I am fifty.

My husband and I were shopping for groceries, and I saw another couple, several years older than we are, but in their fifties, and I realized that we look like that, more or less. They were nice looking, well-dressed, and the man had white hair, but as it often happens, it's a bit of a shock to get a glimpse of what you must look like to the rest of the world. (This is the idea behind the secret footage and the 360-degree mirror on What Not To Wear, but I digress.)

So, at that moment, reality sank in. I am fifty years old. I am part of An Older Couple. Not much I can do about it, but there it is. And it's okay.