I remember clearly the instant that middle age hit me.
I was 38 and my daughter was 3. It was Halloween night a little past 9 o'clock and trick or treaters were getting few and far between.
I went to the local big-chain grocery store to get some milk for my daughter's breakfast.
Of course, milk is at the back of the store, so that customers will pick up higher-profit impulse items on the way back to the front.
I'm savvy enough to know all that, but that night, I did fall for several of them and I was laughing at myself as I put them on the counter. I told the young woman checker that I had come only for the milk for my daughter's breakfast, but now I had the impulse items too.
Then came the blow. Without malice or any thought how cruel her words were, she said, "That is so nice. I like when my parents have me over for breakfast" -- leaving no doubt that this young adult thought me old enough to be her father.
Instant middle age.
