Log Cabin Chronicles

You know you're not a kid
any longer when...

Your arms are almost too short to read the newspaper.

People call at 9 p.m. and ask, "Did I wake you?"

The end of your tie doesn't come anywhere near the top of your pants.

Your ears are hairier than your head.

You talk about "good grass" and you're referring to someone's lawn.

You have a dream about prunes.

You can't remember the last time you laid on the floor to watch television.

You get into a heated argument about pension plans.

You can go bowling without drinking.

You enjoy hearing about other people's operations.

You're asleep, but others worry that you're dead.

You can live without sex, but not without glasses.

Your back goes out more than you do.

You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room.

You buy a compass for the dash of your car.

You are proud of your lawn mower.

Your best friend is dating someone half their age -- and isn't breaking any laws.

You sing along with the elevator music.

You would rather go to work than stay home sick.

You constantly talk about the price of gasoline.

You consider coffee one of the most important things in life.

You no longer think of speed limits as a challenge.

You answer a question with "Because I said so!"

You send money to PBS.

You take a metal detector to the beach.

You wear black socks with sandals.

You know what the word equity means.

You got cable for the weather channel.

You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it.

Passed along by Ray Goyette.

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Copyright © 2000 John Mahoney/Log Cabin Chronicles/01.2000