I went to the gym last night. We try to go together as a family on Monday nights, but my husband decided to stay home and eat fun size candy bars from his daughter's Halloween stash instead. Don't tell him that I told you that.
As usual, I got to the gym and then climbed onto an elliptical machine (I say "as usual" because I only know how to use three machines and the elliptical is one of them). I recently added a couple of new songs to my workout playlist so I was eager to get started. Here's the confession part. I recently bought new earbuds. I know for a fact that one little bud has an L on it and the other has an R on it. The microscopic L and R are black, the same color as the ear buds. I have no idea which is which. I just shove those bad boys in my ear holes and hope for the best. I'm pretty sure my left ear is hearing music meant for my right and vice versa. This getting old stuff is for the birds!
I typically bring my lunch to work. I often eat vegan pockets of various kinds - like this one, for example. Every single time, I find myself looking at the tiny print on the back of the wrapper for clues on how long to cook the thing in the microwave. It either says 1 1/2 minutes or 112 minutes - it's hard to say which.
I regularly find myself studying garment tags when washing new clothing. Wash in cold water or piping hot water? I usually just decide I'll take my chances and throw it into the washer with a "what the hell" shrug. I know I need to give up my contact lenses and go for bi-focal glasses instead, but I just can't bring myself to do it. Vanity, thy name is Claudia.
I have other clues about my age (other than my traitorous eyeballs, I mean). My daughter is obsessed with Top 40 music. She loves listening to the weekly countdown. Last week she told me, "Mom, Meghan Trainor didn't win. She came in second!" She frowned at me in a way that gave me the impression that I should be pretty bummed out about this tragic turn of events as well. Now, if you don't know who Meghan Trainor is, you are probably even older than I am. I'll wait here while you Google her.
"Sweetie, Meghan Trainor is making money hand over fist so it doesn't really matter if her song is number one or number two. You don't need to worry about her, trust me."
Anyway, my kid has memorized every lyric to every Top 40 song and belts them out at the top of her lungs. And, good gracious, are the lyrics stupid. They make me cringe.
Here is a sample:
Is it weird that I hear
Violins whenever you’re gone
Whenever you’re gone
Is it weird that your ass
Remind me of a Kanye West song?
Kanye West song
Now, most of the songs she likes are chock full of inappropriate lyrics. At least the worst words are bleeped on the radio. I find that it's impossible to keep these songs off her radar, though. I mean, I can physically turn them off but she still finds a way. She is always begging me to turn on a local station that she likes. Sometimes I give in, sometimes I don't. I'm not all about that bass (no treble), I guess.
The fact that I am shaking my fist about dumb song lyrics is just another sign that I'm older than dirt. It's how I knew my mom was old when she criticized the lyrics of songs that I liked when I was a kid. In the midnight hour, she cried more more more. With a rebel yell, she cried more more more. "More what?" my mother would ask.
With my new car, I have a three-month trial of Sirius XM radio. I made the mistake of telling the kid that there is a Top 40 station on there, so now we have to listen to that when she's in the car. Bad music always finds a way, I guess.
Another little tidbit about my trip to the gym . . . as I was zipping along (but going nowhere) on the elliptical, a cute guy walked over and then settled on the stretching mat to my right. I glanced over and noticed that he was doing push-ups. And then I noticed . . . that he was so young that he could easily be my son. So now, on top of going blind and not understanding popular music, apparently I'm also some kind of pervert.