Death is stalking us all

It’s a rarely disputed fact that we are all on our way to becoming our parents, right? The only real debate seems to be the timing. And how hard to fight it.

I liken the aging process to an insidious creep. It’s the tiger silently following you through the jungle. You know it’s there, and it’s scary as hell, but just keep on walking because you don’t really have a choice.

So those rare moments when the “you’re old!” tiger leaps out of the underbrush, claws glistening, are really, really disconcerting.  Here is a small collection of recent “tiger” moments I’ve experienced lately:

• Thinking how cool it is that my tots are rocking out to “my” music (instead of Barney) in the car… only to realize my previously razor-cool alternative/death metal is now being played on the station one step away from easy listening.
• Being shocked - - shocked! - - by what teenagers are wearing these days, even though I strutted around the same hooker borderlands right into my mid-20’s.
• Realizing I actually don’t want a tattoo that badly, after all.
• Learning that makeup isn’t the magical answer it used to be. Instead of a fun option that can make me look extra-fancy, it’s quickly becoming the thin line separating my morning face from that of an embalmed corpse.
• Having way too many of those “my generation was so much more __________” moments. I mean, we listened to the best music, were the most anti-establishment (in our disorganized slacker way), wore the coolest clothes, and had the best time ever. And who the hell do these kids think they are, anyway?