Signs of Old Age

Better Half turns forty on Saturday.  I've already been there.  Done that.  Forty-one's arrival gets closer every day.

We will have been married twenty years in September.

And we are ROCKING this old married couple thing, let me tell you.  If there was an Advanced Placement Old Married Couple class, we'd absolutely be in it.

We're in bed by nine almost every night.  We're up by five every morning.  Our ideal "date night" involves sweats, slippers, and old episodes of The West Wing on Netflix.

And we have conversations like this:

Better Half (holding out a pair of socks this morning):  Case, are these black?

Me:  Yep.

Better Half (holding out another pair):  So, what color are these, then?

Me:  Those are also black.

Better Half:  I thought so, but I wasn't sure.

Me:  Yeah, because there are like

Both of us At. The. Exact. Same. Time:  Fifty Shades of Black!

I am trying to decide if I am more disturbed by the fact that we creepy finished each other's thought before we'd even had our first cup of coffee, or by the fact that we used such a pathetic pop culture reference.