I am now officially an old person.
I have written before on this blog about my advancing senescence and the debilities that it perforce entails. But I have seen the last nail in the coffin, so to speak.
Yesterday, E.S. and I, having exhausted
everything on the TiVo except his goddamned home and garden shows the cornucopia of possibilities offered by our TiVo, turned to real-time programming for our evening’s entertainment. (Well, for the first part of our evening’s entertainment, anyway.) We settled on a recent teen movie called John Tucker Must Die, only mostly because it starred your favorite bare-chested gardener on season one of Desperate Housewives and mine, Jesse Metcalfe.
About halfway through the movie, a young person who, it seems, is actually named Brittany Snow came onscreen wearing nothing but a red lace bra and red lace panties.
And upon being confronted with this picture I turned to E.S. and said, my voice filled with righteous indignation, “I think that’s inappropriate. She’s too young to be dressed like that.”
I clapped my hand over my mouth in horror but it was too late; I had let the fateful words escape my tongue and they could never be recaptured.
My youth, 1973-2008. Requiescat in pace.
I want, like the Cumaean Sybil, to die.