When Did I Get Old?

That's what I'm wondering right now--when did I get old? Last night, the teenager went ice skating with friends (the worry over her falling and breaking a bone is a story for another time). Afterwards, she called, wondering if it was ok to bring her friends back to the house to watch a movie. (The names have been changed to protect ME.)

Me: "Sure. Who's coming?"
Teenager: "Cindy, Katie and Brian"
Me: "Ok. See you soon." (very calmly)

Inside my head, red lights are flashing and alarms going off. I think I heard the robot from "Lost in Space" saying "Danger! Danger!" You see, the teenager has never brought a male home before. So hubby and I decided we would retreat to our room, just a few feet away, and turn the living room over to them. Actually, it went more like, hubby saying, "I'll hook up the DVD player down here because a boy is NOT going up to her room!"

I should insert here that the teenager IS a REALLY good kid, straight A's, no trouble at all, and as far as I know, this boy is just friend. But teenagers will be teenagers, with minds of their own and hormones and all that, so the hubby and I just want to play it safe.

So the teenager and friends, including the boy, roll in, and as the boy is walking in the door, he's saying, "I think my zipper is broke. It won't go back up." Immediately the chest pain starts.

Me: "ROBERT, GET THE BASEBALL BAT!" (Use your own imagination for the decibel level.)
Hubby: "Baseball bat Hell, I need a shotgun!"

Turns out the boy was referring to his sweatshirt. Poor kid. Had no idea what all the ruckus was for. Luckily we're old and don't move too quickly. Hubby and I retreated to our room and gave them some space, with a few periodic visits to check in. As I pretended to watch SNL while trying to listen for any unusual sounds or movements, it sank in. I am old.