Baseball great Satchel Paige has been quoted as saying, “How old would you be if you didn’t know how old you were?”

The answer would be an alarmingly high number for some friends and me after a recent lunch. 

Let me process the trauma. 

Seven lovely ladies were celebrating two birthdays in the group. The box we all check on registration forms is age 50-57. Thanks to eye cream, sunscreen and more modern methods done at a dermatologist’s office, we could get away with checking box 45-50. But what happened at that lunch pushed us to box 80 and beyond. 

Before you come after me, there are many, many people age 80 and beyond who top my list of favorites. The cast of characters at my mom’s assisted living provide some of the best entertainment around, plus they usually have candy on them. By no means am I trashing the 80-plus crowd. 

But as fiftysomething people, my friends and I want to hang on to any possible shred of being young and cool, living life to the fullest in our Kut from the Kloth jeans and Jennifer Fisher hoop earrings. 

This aging mumbo jumbo seems to happen instantly and unexpectedly. One day you’re attempting a TikTok recipe, making bread out of cauliflower and cottage cheese, and then poof! The next day you have a favorite grocery store. 

Just as surprisingly, the birthday lunch planning text thread took a dark turn. 

You’d typically meet around noon, right? The newish and very popular Frontenac establishment we chose has a 90- minute lunch rush with a line out the door every single day (but so worth waiting in). One friend thought we should meet a bit earlier, at 11:45. Another suggested 11:30. And that’s when all heck broke loose: The text that shook me to my 55-year-old core. 

“Let’s meet at 11:15 to get there before the crowd.” 

Ba-boom!

11:15? Look, you hags, my morning just started, it’s not time for lunch yet. Mother can’t even think about savory salads and sandwiches this soon after sunrise. To be clear, this was not brunch. This was Lunch with a capital L. There would be birthday festivities like gifts and candles and minidesserts that everyone cuts in half because they would never eat an entire baby cupcake in front of other people. 

“Yes,” agreed one of my rapidly aging friends, “I can save us a table.” 

Oh jeez, the saving of the tables paired with beating the crowd is the hallmark of turning into our mothers. You know what comes next: The ladies who lunch lamenting the portion sizes, exclaiming, “This is much too much food!” 

Yet there we were, 11:15 a.m., at a table set for seven, air kissing each other hello and discussing which proteins would top our kale salads that were too big to finish. Tradition soon stepped in with the presentation of gifts and stage whisper volume singing while setting the itty-bitty desserts on fire before cutting them in half to be shared.

I should have predicted this “early arrival to save tables and beat the crowd” business would happen. 

Just days earlier, I called one of the girls at 9:15 p.m. She answered the phone, “It’s after hours, this better be important.” Silly girl is known for getting in bed at 9 p.m., ready to tuck it in and turn it off by 9:30 p.m. 

Then she said, “We’re just finishing up an episode of ‘Blue Bloods.’” 

I swear to all that is holy those exact words were uttered. We’re only in our 50s, we should be watching “The White Lotus” and reenacting some of the stuff they do on there.

As kids we spent evenings in our pajamas, sipping hot cocoa and going to bed early. Then we hit our 20s and went out. All the time. Late. Our evenings started at the same time what’s-her-toots now goes to bed. These days, our evenings have us back in our pajamas, sipping hot cocoa and going to bed early. Full circle. 

Another great quote attributed to Satchel Paige that we can relate to as we age: “Sometimes I sit and think, and other times I just sit.” 

I wonder, if the wise Mr. Paige were still alive, which grocery store would be his favorite.