3508866323_c6b8309bbc_oOK, now I’m really starting to worry.

Those of you who have been reading this blog since the beginning and/or have read My Formerly Hot Life know that while on any given day I veer wildly between shock and occasional horror at the realities of adult tweendom and good-humored acceptance of aging, mostly I strive to laugh at the whole ridiculous inevitable mess and get on with my day. Laughing at myself for caring as much as I do about no longer being young takes the sting out, and I can truthfully say that the overall direction of my emotional trajectory is toward greater happiness and acceptance and life satisfaction.

And then something comes up and knocks me on my disappearing ass and I’m startled anew by the whole process.

I was just in the gym and the TV was tuned to Regis and Kelly, a show I used to catch as I dressed to leave the house and, well, feel a little superior to the folks calling in from somewhere to the trivia portion of the show with answers about yesterday’s celebrity guest that proved they never missed an episode. What did Emeril Lagasse say was his least favorite vegetable as a child, that he used to feed to his dog, who puked under the table, thus revealing his deception to his mother? Please. I had someplace to go, which made me better, somehow a more evolved human. I’m not proud to have been such a snob, but that’s what flashed through my head.

Today, for whatever reason I found myself CRACKING UP at the two of them. Like, laughing out loud as if they were Jon Stewart and Steven Colbert, who are much cooler to find amusing.

I’ve always had a soft spot for Kelly. She’s disarmingly kind and funny, and channels her obvious intelligence for good rather than snark in a way that leaves you unable to dislike her, even before you’ve had your coffee.

But Reege was always the symbol of old fartdom. His grumpy routine struck me as false and trumped up and I didn’t care about his affinity for Notre Dame football or golf or how much grief his wife and daughters were giving him at home. He represented a demographic I consciously didn’t want to be associated with.

But there I was, giggling like an idiot at some joke he made about the Neti pot (which Kelly had him use on TV for comic effect) being akin to waterboarding and that she had to stop, that he’d tell her anything she wanted to know. I have no idea why that was funny to me. (A Neti pot is one of those tiny teapot things that you use to pour salt water in one nostril and out the other to clear your sinuses. I use one on occasion.)

It really wasn’t that funny, and my¬† younger self would have had the ability to discriminate between the truly funny and the cheap laugh, which that was. Not me now. I went on to laugh for the rest of the segment, out loud with my headphones on, like one of those people at the gym who, well, laughs out loud with her headphones on!

I found myself starting to feel mildly sentimental about Regis retiring–when did I start to care about stuff like that? The next thing you know I’ll be invested in who is replacing him and probably calling in to the trivia portion of the show. What is happening to me?

Or maybe he is and always was just plain funny, and I was too cool for school and so couldn’t let myself laugh because, as many young people do, I thought that liking something so mainstream and middle-America meant I was mediocre, and hence easily amused. Or maybe I am now closer to being an old fart and so Regis is simply speaking my language, or I his, and I just don’t care that I’m the lady laughing at the gym with her headphones on.

Either way, my name is Stephanie Dolgoff, and I enjoy Regis and Kelly. I am officially over myself.

Photo by David Shankbone CC