I’m 50. I struggle against this, but it’s sometimes difficult to deny.
It’s the memory, or in fact lack of it, that most lets me know I’m no longer a spring chicken.
This morning, I did the same as I do every morning, got up, showered, brushed tooth (I am old)
and got dressed.
I carried my computer downstairs whilst listening to the radio. Closed computer, into my bag ready for the ten minute journey to the office.
It was only when I felt the straps of my bag chafing on my bare skin that I realised it would be best for all if I put a shirt on.