As if it’s not enough that my 20-year high school reunion is in a couple of months, lately I’ve been getting a few reminders that I’m not nearly as young as I think I am. In my head, I’m still in my 20s. That is, until I hear actual 20-year-olds talking. Then I’m hit with my true age in astonishing and brutal reality.

Don’t get me wrong – I don’t think I’m old. And I don’t feel old. And I’m pretty sure that I don’t look old. I mean not OLD. Older, maybe. Of course that all depends on your definition of old, and if you’re like me, that’s a moving target depending on where I’m aiming from, so the older I get, the higher that moving target definition goes. The other day I described someone who was a senior when I was a freshman as “much older than me.” Well they were, back in 1987, much older than me. But that’s the funny thing about age and time. The more time goes by, the less the years between you matter. Except when the years between you are almost two decades.

Yesterday I overheard a couple of 20-somethings chatting about nothing in particular. Returning to college, summer jobs ending and what so-and-so was doing the other night and how she should have known better. And then one started giggling, obviously remembering something funny she wanted to relate to her friend.

20-something #1: Have you ever seen that old show, “Friends?”

20-something #2: Yeah, I think so.

20-something #1: I love the one where Ross is teaching and he all the sudden develops a British accent…have you seen that one?

I wanted to stand up and shout “Of COURSE I’ve seen that one! It’s great!” But her first question was rolling around in my head.

I guess one of the defining television shows of my own 20s is old to them. Which means so am I.

Photo credit: IMDB*

* Post edited to display correct photo.