Thanks, Playboy, for making me feel old.

I recently read or heard somewhere that you know you're getting old when you start noticing that the Playmates keep getting younger and younger. If that's the case, then I must be ancient, because I've been noticing for a while now.

Before I continue, yes, my husband has had a Playboy subscription for several years. No, I don't care if he's looking at pictures of airbrushed naked girls whom he will never meet and/or have a chance in hell of sleeping with. And yes, I do read the magazine and the stories it runs are usually pretty good stuff. So there.

Anyway, one of the habits I've gotten into each month is checking to see how old the Playmate is. Sad, I know, but I do it. And each year it just gets more depressing. I actually find my spirits lifting a bit on the rare occasion when the Playmate is 23 or (gasp!) 25. A few months ago I think they ran a 28-year-old. I was practically floating on air for a day.

But this month's Miss April should have been called Miss Awful, because that's how I felt when I saw her. As I casually flipped through the pages, I noticed she was born in 1990. I realize that makes her 21, but still ...

... 1990! I remember that year!

I was 7. It was the year one of my mom's horses was born. That's my most vivid memory because I loved horses, and I woke up one sunshiney day and heard the dogs barking and I looked out my window and boom, there was a new baby horse in our pasture, and I was the first person in our house to notice. But other big things happened, too. One of my many little cousins was born that year, and many more were born in the years after that.

I guess seeing someone of their age taking her clothes off for a magazine is vaguely disturbing to me. Doesn't seem that long ago that they were running around in diapers ... or that I was running outside to greet that baby horse.

The weird thing is, I'm still young. Twenty-seven, by most adult standards, is a far cry from being "old," and I'm really not much older than the girl in the magazine. So why am I suddenly feeling like a dinosaur? Could it be the increasing disconnect I feel toward everything that is "young and hip" by today's standards? Have I reached that age where my brain has become stuck in a certain generational time warp, never to evolve further? (Side note: I still don't have a Twitter account or smartphone. Take that, Generation Tech!)

Whatever it is, one thing's for sure: I've got a lot of life left to live. I might not be young and modern anymore, but these days "older and wiser" isn't looking so bad.