I’m not doing very well at all with this whole “growing-into-middle-age-gracefully thing.” I thought I would. I never dreaded the “big” birthdays — as a matter of fact, they were the best ones. I’ve never cared about how old I am because (1) I don’t usually act my age, (2) I usually associate with younger people anyway, and (3) there is no way in hell I’d want to be in my 20’s again. 30’s maybe. Those were good years. And I admit, my college years were a blast. But to be out “there” now, no way. Dating seems to be an absolute nightmare now, and I want no part of it. I don’t want to appear smug, with my little married-with-two-kids-and-white-picket-fence life — in fact, it drives me insane a lot [read: MOST] of the time. But no. Not me. Not again.
So here’s the deal. I am starting to say things my parents used to say. When I was in elementary school, I remember asking my dad about a math problem and he would say, wait, let me look, that’s the “new math.” I never really knew what he meant by that, but I knew that he would have to look at what I was working on, do it his way, and then try to convert it to the way we were being taught.

Well now, I’m doing it. And this is a tough one to admit. But my 8th grader brought home an assignment. In honors English. And it had to do with topic sentences. And he told me that the rule is that a topic sentence, in formal writing, can never, ever include any form of the verb “be.” And as quickly as my daddy used to do it, I told him first, that that was totally insane. Then I said, well — and it really hurts to admit this — I said, “well, that must be the new way they are teaching.” Oh. My. God. Just put a freakin’ apron on me, take the Loreal #54 out of my hair, and call me old. Damn. I just referred to something as the “new” way. What’s next? Support hose? Taking medicine for my “pressure?” Oops. Never mind. I’m already doing that. But not because I’m old. It’s because these kids keep bringing home new ways of doing things. Of course my blood pressure is going to go up! It’s that damned rock and roll, I tell ya.

So it’s official. What the hell. But hey, before I go? I am actually intrigued. Are any of you young whippersnappers familiar with that writing rule? Let me know.

But make it quick. I don’t think I have much longer.

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