Youâ€™ve come to the annoying realization that your parents were right about almost everything.
The bag boy volunteers to help load groceries into your carâ€”in the â€œten items or lessâ€ lane.
Youâ€™ve stopped supporting your children, and started supporting your parents.
Youâ€™ve found yourself discussing rain gutters.
You remember your kidâ€™s names, just not always the right one.
You have nightmares about forgetting to move the garbage cans to the street for the garbage collector.
Your high school yearbook is now home to three different species of mold.
You buy â€œage-defyingâ€ makeup and â€œanti-wrinkleâ€ creams and believe they work.
Youâ€™ve realized that all those geeky people in Bermuda shorts walking around Disney World include you.
You recognize Led Zeppelin songs that have been turned into elevator Muzak.
As a public service, you have agreed to never appear on the beach in a Speedo again.
Youâ€™ve had three opportunities to buy every single Disney Animated Classicâ€”â€œfor the last time in a generationâ€
Youâ€™d pay good money to be strip-searched.
Wal-Mart and target seem to share your fashion sense.
The only way you know to stop a virtual pet from beeping involves the patio and a sledgehammer.
You can pack two suits, Five shirts, five ties, five pairs of underwear, five pairs of socks, a pair of shoes, and half of your bathroom into a carry-on bagâ€”in less than five minutes.
You know what Earth Shoes are.
You think if you hear â€œStairway to Heavenâ€ one more time your head will explode.
Your weight-lifting program seems to have no effect on your muscles, but the veins on the backs of your hands are bulking up quite nicely.
On Saturday night, when your wife mentions â€œhot oil, a little friction, and squealing,â€ you tell her youâ€™ll have the car looked at first thing Monday morning.