IT'S OFFICIAL

I'm old.

Turning 39 last week was my first clue.

My second clue was much more traumatic.

My 14-year-old went to his first church dance. And he, remarkably, danced. Six times. And he, even more remarkably, asked some of those girls himself.

He's telling me this at 11:30 Saturday night, lulling me into thinking all is well, and then he hits me with the trauma: "The last girl who asked me to dance was 17."

Ack! I guess that's what happens when your 14-year-old son is 5' 10".

It also happens when you're old.

Sigh.