I had not been in a teenage boy’s car in almost twenty years. It is something I have prided myself on. Which is weird. I know. But there it is. And I had no desire to be in one until I would be forced to do so once my son hits his driving years. And yet, the other night I found myself in that very spot. I have never felt so uncool and old in my entire life.

The car smelled the same as every teenage boy’s car I have ever been in. Like youth and cologne. Invincibility and hope. It smelled like an unopened future and I stunk of a withered past.

I had received a ride home with my friend and her son. He drove and we held hands in the back seat as he maneuvered through our quiet town.

I could not stop laughing. It seemed so surreal. In that moment all I could think about was how embarrassed this kid must be to be driving around two mature women. In their pajamas (long story). I was also wearing the lovely combination above, on my feet. For real. A choice made with absolutely no alcohol involved. But a choice made quickly as to get to the alcohol later involved.

This sock and shoe combination did not, despite what you may assume, make me feel any hipper (the fact that I just used the word “hipper” to mean “cooler” and not some sort of body malfunction reinstates my decline on the social ladder).

The sweet boy let me out of the car. I creaked my way out of the backseat. I felt weary. My bones ached. Now I recognize that I am not old. By any means. And I normally feel like I am twenty years old, but being in the car with someone who was twenty years younger than myself made me feel more ancient than I knew to be possible. It seems like only yesterday I was this boy’s age. Where has the time gone?

I went to my front door and had to ring the door bell so my own teenager could let me in the house. I padded through the kitchen in my comfortable shoes and filled a baggie with homemade chocolate chip cookies for the young man.

Because I had made them earlier that evening.

Yes, I somehow found the time to make two batches of chocolate chip cookies, but still managed to leave the house with the tragic footwear choice.

Priorities.

After I distributed the cookies to the teenage boy, I dragged my debilitated body back into the house. I shuffled into the bathroom to get a good look at myself in the mirror.

When did that line get so deep right there?

Is that an age spot on my chin?

No. But what is that?

Is that a pimple?

That is a pimple!

Great. Not only am I aging, but I get to keep all of the bad parts of youth as well.

It is as though life is laughing at me.

I have come full circle.

In the shape of a cookie. The scented steering wheel of a fast car. A pimple on an aging woman’s face.

The shape of Life’s mouth as he laughs at my realization and sprays cologne on his neck.

I am not sure if I am ready for the ride he has planned ahead.

Hopefully, my next life lesson involves better shoes.