Okay, it's official. I'm middle-aged. How do I know this? Not so much
because of my chronological age, but because the other day, I received
a catalog in the mail entitled "As We Change." And it was addressed to me;
the postal carrier did not, as he is often wont to do, deliver someone
else's mail to my door. No. There it was, clear as could be (for a
person who was not wearing her reading glasses): My name, my address.
This cannot be happening. No way.
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