I'm working on trading cards for a college hockey team and am formatting the information for the backs of the cards—height, weight, position, year, etc.—and there is a column in the spreadsheet for "birthdate."
Hold on. I'm getting kind of nauseous just thinking about it. Give me a minute.
OK, I'm back. I didn't pay close attention to the column headers, so at first I didn't realize what that date was. But then I thought, "Oh my God. That can't be their brithdate. Is that their birthdate?" And I got light headed and felt like crying. Sort of. Mostly I just felt—and still feel—discombobulated and slightly ill.
The freshmen were born the year I graduated from high school. (See, there's that sick feeling again.) Basically I'm old enough to be...their MOTHER.
So while some of those whipper snappers were still in utero, I was walking around looking like this:
I'm sure their mothers remember hair like this. How could you forget it.
wait - you mean hair like that is out of style?!?
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