The days of smoking in the mall, downing an Orange Julius, and watching Dr. Huxtable examine women in his basement have all come to an end.
Don’t tell me what cool is. I know what cool is.
That’s when being really cool became something I talk about in the past tense.
You don’t have to be expressly called a dipstick by an elementary school kid in order to feel like one.
Suddenly all the corny nonsense you were forced to do for the sake of family unity has become a source of humiliation again.