We live two minutes from a great business district in our city. It's a strip of boutiques and restaurants by day and bars and nightclubs by night.
On Friday night, I drove up to this area for something (to be explained below) and passed my brother-in-law at an intersection to this area.
He sent me a text, teasing me to see if I was going out clubbing.
While other 25-year-olds were probably heading out for a night of partying until 3 a.m., I was running up to McDonald's for some sweet tea so I could stay awake for the presidential debate at home. Because, ya know, it lasted until the insane hour of 11 p.m.
That's when I realized I'm old.
Old in spirit because I've never cared about bars and clubs. Old in body because my bed starts whispering sweet nothings to me around 8:30 p.m.
At least I'm not wearing Mom Jeans. Yet.