I'm noticing that students who I'd assumed were about my age are actually 4 or 5 years younger than me -- and some are born in another decade entirely. Not so distant a gap, but definitely enough that were I in their position, I'd view me as an older person. Like I was some kind of thoroughly established adult. A staff member walking around campus among students, in a protective staff bubble of permanence, stability, seriousness. I'm practically wearing orthopedic shoes.
I also discovered the second unfortunate consequence of leaving my over-priced hair stylist: My roots include at least 3 grey hairs. Certainly, I've been a bit of a prudish old lady since I first joyfully ironed along with Martha. And teensy wrinkles I've had since I was a kid, and expected while I baked in tanning salons throughout high school (oh, and college). But, as far as I know, grey hairs hold no exterior cause to blame for accelerating their appearance; my body is simply decaying. And once my very hair follicles lose interest in the plump, colorful vibrancy of youth, what hope do I have? If this is not the end, it is certainly no longer the beginning.
PS. I am not wearing orthopedic shoes. In fact, I think I look pretty hot today.