22 and old as dirt… well sort of?

“22 going on 80: A Whole Lot of Ways Biathlon has Made Me an Old Lady”

I have a bed time. And it is early… like… ’10pm is hours past it’ sort of early.
All my injuries are related to falling down.
I get cranky if I miss my afternoon nap.
Velcro waist bands.
I have, in fact, cried out, “Ow ow oooow! My hip! My hip!!!”
I am always cold. Seriously why am I always so cold!?
I am only capable of knitting really ugly things.
Most foods are too oily, salty, or sweet for me… but I will never turn down ice cream.
My joints frequently ache, creek, and pop.
I can’t touch my toes.
One drink and I am just like your Grandma Betty at Thanksgiving… asleep on the couch.
I understand the convenience of velcro shoes.
At the first sign of the sniffles I will proclaim to everyone within ear shot that I have most definitely “caught death.”
I appreciate foods that do not need to be chewed. Apple sauce, yogurt, mash potatoes…
Walking up a flight of stairs is frequently a challenge.
I have a strange affinity for really ugly (but oh so cozy) socks.
The only thing separating life in the OTC from assisted living is a curtain between you and your room mate and a emergency button by the toilet.
*Seriously, all your friends live down the hall, hot meals are served three times a day, and alcohol is not allowed on campus.
It is way past my bed time. Goodnight.