You should catch him when he stage dives, he might break a hip

I just got off the phone with my buddy Dan, who is four months older than me. We're 36.

Dan told me that last night, he went to an Incubus concert. It was great. However, at some point, he looked around, and suddenly realized he was old enough to be the father of many of the people around him.

And so, he officially became Old Guy. And through guilt of association, has dragged me with him.

We don't understand this. We were just 20 yesterday. And I realized, when you say things like "but I was just 20 yesterday...", you're done for.

But he continued to tell me that at the concert, when he mentioned to his beloved that he wanted a beer, his spouse's reply was "but it's a work night".

To which my immediate and unedited response was "EWWWWWWW!!!!", contentedly confirming my belief that my mental age rests somewhere around 12 1/2.

Which makes things seem stranger yet, when thinking about the boyfriend, who, next year, will be 40. Forty? Forty. I called Jackie.

"I can't get over the fact that I have a boyfriend who's going to be 40", I mumbled, still shell-shocked.

"And he's YOUR age", Jackie offered helpfully, with a mouth stuffed full of cheese, as usual.

Ah, shit.

Is 40 the new 20? Is black the new black? Does it matter that we work out all the time, curse more than our kids, listen to the same music they do, and his favorite thing to do is jump out of planes?

Sure, my pitching arm's still good enough that I could toss my panties up on stage at a Calle 13 show. Does it matter that they'd be gigantic leftover maternity panties?