Old?

Before class Friday night:
Kevin is looking at the leg warmers peeking out from underneath my uniform.
"What do you have on your feet?" he asks.
"Leg warmers. From ballet. They keep my muscles warm when it's cold in here."
"Are they socks?"
"No," I answer. "They go up over my knees." I pat my legs where the leg warmers end. "I can pull them off when I get warmed up. You probably don't remember when leg warmers were a fashion statement, back in the mid-eighties."
"I remember the eighties, but . . . well, I'm 34."
He doesn't remember the eighties.

After class Friday night:
Ms. Pryor is telling us about some kind of martial arts contest or reality show or something she signed up for.
"They said they were looking for people from 18-34, but I entered anyway. I think they should include those of us who are older!" she tells us.
I agree. "I think our story might be more interesting. Besides, being "over 34" isn't old for martial arts."
"Well, I'm probably the oldest one here tonight," she says.
"I don't think so, ma'am," I say. "First, I don't think you're old. And besides, I bet I'm older than you are. I'm 43."
"You're 43?" she asks. "Then you beat me by just a little. I turn 43 this month."
Then I realize: I was the oldest one there that night.