A few months back I turned 35. That’s right, I’m no longer a viable consumer. Goodbye, 18-34 target-audience bracket. No longer will movies be made with my demographic in mind, nor will books be written that cater to my post-modern sensibilities.
Actually, turning 35 wasn’t a big deal–just like 30 wasn’t a big deal. But I have started to notice a thing or eight that didn’t seem to be “issues” before.
Case in point: my last family vacation. We took a trip to Hershey. And we did it like the high rollers we aren’t. We stayed in the famed Hershey Hotel–it took me a week or so to stop giggling when I read those words, too. Sneaking a poop joke past me is a tall order. But I had no option but to put aside my puerile observational humor as soon as we hit the lobby–just, wow. Simple, elegant, and chocolaty.
I hit the awesome gym, with its monogrammed towels and premium cable at every tredmill and elliptical machine. And my pace was pretty kick ass–rarefied air and all that I guess. So my 35 years weren’t a bother as far as my speed was concerned.
I was rather pleased with myself. I even thought I’d give the roller coasters at Hershey Park a go after my son conked out. Well, I was about 12 seconds into my first ride when Father Time sucker punched me.
To be continued…
Happy very, very belated birthday!
I didn’t realize there was a Hershey Hotel – I had only remembered the theme park from my childhood. Too cool.
Yeah, it’s pretty amazing. Thanks for sticking with me, Green Girl.
I’ll have to check it out next time in that neck of the woods.
I’m not going anywhere, Double Meep. I love your sense of humor.