I just had my official "I'm old" holiday moment. It didn't happen when my younger cousins showed me up at Wii boxing and Guitar Hero, or when I repeatedly didn't get IDed at bars (though I may have another in a few hours at my high school's alumni pub night).
It happened when I was doing an interval workout at the local high school's track.
A group of kids -- probably 5th or 6th grade? yeah I'm so old I can't even tell -- were playing lacrosse on the turf field in the center of the track. That's cute, I thought...until at the end of my third lap on my last mile repeat something shiny and sharp came flying towards my shins. As I lept over it, I glared at the culprit as he gave me that look that says, "Oops, I didn't mean to do that, only really I did because I wanted to see what would happen."
"Fffffffff..." I blocked the air as I ran through all the things I could shout at them. You stupid kids! I'll tell your mother! You could have hurt someone!
Yeah, I officially turned into an old cogderette. All I was missing was an angry fist pump.
And somehow, while my mind was searching for that certain something that would show them, I realized that anything I said would just make them laugh more, and sweeten this moment for the little troublemakers.
Then, as I pushed myself waaaaaay too hard on that last lap, I remembered the chants my friends and I had come up with to taunt our music teacher Mr. Ommit (whose name rhymed with an unfortunate bodily fluid), and how much I loved tormenting Ms. Emery until she exploded, and how much entertainment I got when she screamed at us.
And I also remembered that those kids never got to party like it was 1999 (heck, they probably weren't even born in 1999), and all of a sudden I felt like Grampa Simpson in that episode where he pretends to cry and tricks Bart and Lisa into cleaning the house.
But really...who throws a CD at someone who is working out? Those hooligans!
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