Oh God - Am I acting Old?

Just read an excerpt of a great book that's coming out on April 1 - "How Not to Act Old" by Pamela Redmond Satran.  Of course I couldn't resist running down the list just to see how I'm doing.

- shouting into your cell phone. I barely use my cell phone so I don't think I shout into it. My mother does though. Actually, even though she's quite a young grandma, she's started shouting into her home phone too. She does the telephone voice, - "Hello", pause. "Hello" a bit louder. (A bit posher than she normally talks. Perhaps she's expecting Her Maj to be on the other end.)  She used to be a teacher so it's more of a telephone voice than most people's mothers have. She shouts when she phones me too. Well, I am over four thousand miles away.

- dialing on your mobile/cell with your index finger. Hmmm. I had to think about that but most of the people I call are on some sort of speed thing. At least their numbers flash up as soon as I turn it to the phoning part. (I-Phone; it does a lot more than dial out.) I used to use my thunbs to dial and text (hip mama that I am) but the I-Phone doesn't have raised buttons, so you end up hitting all the keys around your intended letter too. So yes, I'm acting old in the dialing department.

- leaving voice messages. Initially I thought "Why on earth does that age you?", thus immediately ageing myself. Apparently no one bothers to leave messages anymore, they just hang up and assume that the recipient will see their number and call them back when they can.  Hmmm. They have a very good point. I quite often leave the Ball & Chain detailed messages, and he usually doesn't bother to listen to them, prefering to call me back and say " 'Sup?" So yes, I'm acting old in the messaging department too.

- granny pants/knickers and bras the size of Scotland. I've discussed my underwear collection before, and the fact that my own mother sends me Marks & Spencer control knickers for birthdays. I'm definitely ancient in this department but I really don't care. I don't have lacy bits digging into me, my boobs are high and under control, and I never have a VPL. (Visible panty line.) Happy to be acting old in this department, thank you very much.

- book your holidays so far in advance you forget when they are. No such luck; we don't even have this summer organised. The flights are going to cost a fortune, but until I know what the Queenager is doing, I am hamstrung.  My in-laws usually have their plans so well carved out that they need an "insurance" policy in case anything crops up in the meantime.

- panic before holidays. I sometimes do this but it's more because I still don't quite know what's going on a week before we're due to fly. I think I'm allowed a bit of a panic under those circumstances. My mother, on the other hand, starts panicking the minute the subject is broached. We have just discussed her coming over here and then flying back with me in July, and I can feel a huge long e-mail winging its way over the Atlantic already. First there'll be the panic about how to get from Newcastle down to London. (Last year BMI cancelled the connecting flight down to London and all hell broke loose.) Then we'll have the suitcase/weight issue - how much to bring and which suitcase to use. Then she'll panic about having to change terminals at Heathrow and whether or not her luggage can be checked all the way through. On a more positive note, I'll be so wound up by the time she gets here, I'll be about ten pounds lighter.

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