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  • jtbelangela

Getting Older

I realized something at the supermarket early this morning; something I hadn’t planned on being confronted with as I loaded paper towels into my cart. I am old. You may be wondering how a person comes into such a realization amid an aisle of paper products; let me explain.

My husband and I happily went about our grocery shopping as we do every Sunday morning. The store was fairly quiet and in the middle of the snack aisle, it overcame me--Come Sail Away by Styx. I hummed along and stopped myself. By the time I was grabbing the cat food, Night Moves by Bob Seger had me lip syncing. In frozen foods, it was the kiss of death--Journey. I was helpless; I just couldn’t fight it any more. When I reached the end of the aisle in full sway, I ran into my husband who wasn’t even hiding the fact that he was matching Steve Perry note for note. I looked at him, still boyishly handsome after more than twenty years of marriage and realized that we are no longer two fresh-faced kids who had no business marrying as young as we did. Despite the grey hanging out in his temples and peppered throughout his goatee, my husband still makes me crazy ... in a good way. I thought of all the memories we’ve shared over the years to those songs and the fact that we’re still happily making new ones. So if loving the music piped into the supermarket makes us old; so be it. They say that youth is wasted on the young anyway. Don’t Stop Believin’, my friends.