Me and Gander Mountain. Both established in 1960. Two of my husband's favorites.
Having recently celebrated my birthday, I find myself pondering how I ever got to be 45 years old. I'm not depressed or devastated by this; just astounded. I can quite clearly remember my seventh birthday (but I can't remember what I came downstairs for). How can I be old enough to clearly remember anything 38 years ago? How did I end up in this body with parts that hurt for no apparent reason? Since when do I snore? Why am I suddenly interested in magazines with articles touting titles like, "Flatter Abs in Eight Days!"?
Before the rest of you who are older than me start rubbing my nose in the fact that I am "just a youngster", let me wallow in being 45 for a while. I'll deal with 50 when I get there.
1 comment:
I suppose if you are as old as Gander Mountain, I am older than the hills.
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