Gobsmacked. That’s what I am!
I put “Home Alone” on in the background while I pulled out Christmas decorations this afternoon. It’s such a classic and doesn’t even seem that outdated, considering – so I got curious and got to Googling (the beginning to every horror story).
When was “Home Alone” released? (1990! Impossible!)
How old is Catherine O’Hara? (64! How dare you!)
What year is it now? (hold on, let me check).
Do the math, follow the one, pull out my iPhone calculator and … I’M OLDER THAN KEVIN McCALLISTER’S MOM YOU GUYS.
This can’t be real. Lies. It’s absolutely false that Catherine O’Hara is younger than me in that movie. Utterly impossible – I’m still that girl in my dream who suddenly realizes she’s been forgetting to go to Econ 101 all year and finals are tomorrow!
The cracks in my reality are starting to splinter.
Just now, after all my sick family went to bed, I found “You’ve Got Mail” on Netflix – perfect. I love the incredible AOL dial up throw back and how huge her computer is and that she has no idea that the new lover who destroyed her small book store with his big book store has no idea Amazon is about to ruin them all.
Bored, I got to Googling. MEG RYAN IS MY AGE IN THAT MOVIE YOU GUYS! Filth! I spit on the ground these lies walk on!
And Tom Hanks? He’s only a few years older than me. Have you seen his neck in that movie?
My God, I’m in the age range where necks go bad!
This is the beginning of the end. No more denial, I’m out of excuses. I’m old enough to have a real life budget and always have at least one can of mushroom soup in my pantry. And apparently, I’m old enough to live in a huge, stately Chicago home, where I leave my son while I fly off to Paris. I’m old enough to live in a massive brownstone in New York where I have to sell my failing business thanks to my new lover whose neck is starting to go bad!
What’s next, granny panties?
Oh, who am I kidding. I love granny panties.