You know, you have old things in both your twenties and thirties. The difference lies in who made them old.
For instance, in your twenties you got old stuff that somebody else made old, like the couch that who knows who did what on. It's perfectly broken in so you try not to think of it. After all, you got to eat on it, for crissake.
But in your thirties, you got old stuff that you made old. Case in point:
last night I gave my sheet a good yank and it ripped. Not a little tear, but a throw-it-away, it's done-for, make-a-tournequet-out-of-the-leavings RIP. Most of the top part of the sheet is gone, shredded like love in a long marriage. (Ok, I don't really think that. But nice one, don't you think?)
It's time for new sheets already! Can you believe it? I can't be old enough to need the third (or is it fourth?) round of new sheets for my marriage.
I think I'll let myself think that the sheets were new but we are so *athletic* in bed that we run through them pretty regularly. Yeah. Definitely better.