You didn’t grow up tweeting, and downloading from “the cloud” feels less like an entertainment option and more like an SAT exam. So the day you successfully navigate Facebook’s ever-changing privacy settings without yelling down the hall for your son to come help—go ahead and pat yourself on the back.
It’s never too late to tackle that marathon you put off during your twenties when you were busy taking part in other events, like happy hour. Kicking your own college-age butt by getting into great shape now makes for the sweetest victory lap.
God bless the sales associate who offers to help “you and your sister” get set up in a fitting room. And regardless of how many eye rolls your twenty-something offspring is executing, bask in the clerk’s refusal to believe you’re not a mere five years older than your kid.