You finally got your head together, now your body is falling apart.
You wake up with that morning-after feeling and you didn't do anything the night before.
It takes twice as long to look half as good.
People call at 9 PM and ask, "Did I wake you?"
You can live without sex but not without glasses.
The clothes you've put away until they come back in style... have come back in style.
You look forward to a dull evening.
The pharmacist has become your new best friend.
There's nothing left to learn the hard way.
You come to the conclusion that your worst enemy is gravity.
You start video taping daytime game shows.
You quit trying to hold your stomach in, no matter who walks into the room.
Your idea of a night out is sitting on the patio.
You look for your glasses for half-an-hour, then find they've been on your head all the time.
You wake up, looking like your driver's license picture.
Happy hour is a nap.
You begin every other sentence with, "Nowadays..."
You constantly talk about the price of gasoline.
You don't remember when your wild oats turned to shredded wheat.
You sing along with the elevator music.
You are proud of your lawn mower.
You wonder how you could be over the hill when you don't remember being on top of it.
Getting lucky means you find your car in the parking lot.
Your idea of weight lifting is standing up.
Your secrets are safe with your friends because they can't remember them either.
You have a party and the neighbors don't even realize it.
It takes longer to rest than it did to get tired.
You talk about "good grass" and you're referring to someone's lawn.
You give up all your bad habits and you still don't feel good.
Your childhood toys are now in a museum.
You confuse having a clear conscience with having a bad memory.
You frequently find yourself telling people what a loaf of bread USED to cost.
You know all the answers, but nobody asks you the questions.
You enjoy hearing about other people's operations.
You got cable for the weather channel. Old Folks MTV!
Your new easy chair has more options than your car.
Your little black book only contains names ending in M.D.
Everything hurts and what doesn't hurt, doesn't work.
You find yourself beginning to like accordion music.
You have too much room in the house and not enough in the medicine cabinet.
You get into a heated argument about pension plans.
"Getting a little action" means you don't need to take a laxative.
Conversations with people your own age often turn into "dueling ailments."
You buy a compass for the dash of your car.
You take a metal detector to the beach.
The car that you bought brand new becomes an antique.
You are cautioned to slow down by the doctor instead of by the police.
You realize that caution is the only thing you care to exercise.
You don't remember being absentminded.
You have more patience; but actually, it's just that you don't care any more.
Your memory is shorter and your complaining is longer.
Your drugs of preference are now vitamins.
You tip more and carry less.
You read more and remember less.
You get propositioned by AARP.
You begin to become invisible in the dating and mating game.
The highway patrol sigh or shake their heads but don't give you a ticket.
You scout for a warmer place to spend the long, cold winters.
Youthful injuries return with a vengeance.
Youthful indiscretions harden into bad habits.
You shop for health insurance the way you once shopped for a new car.
Your 'late night' now ends at 11 pm.
You develop a knack for wearing hats.
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