As I get older I have come to accept certain facts about myself and my life.

I will always panic at the thought of parallel parking, I will always just barely pooch out an A cup, and I will always laugh my ass off at .gifs of people walking into things.

There is one thing I’m having a really tough time with though, and that is the increasingly crystal clear realization that I may not be cool anymore.

Now, many would argue that I was never cool. To them I count out with incredulous fingers the following three facts:

  1. I once worked at a record store
  2. I learned how to drive a car (with a stick no less) at age 11
  3. I have masturbated at more than one workplace

Cool, right? So cool.

And I care so very much about cool. You can stripe my hair with grey and dent my face with meandering wrinkles, but please, sweet universe, don’t take away my cool.

But I fear it is too late. I think that if a war broke out and I was enlisted to fight I would be just another face in the MomCorp division.

Let’s look at the evidence:

I let the car warm up before I drive. This is after I’ve mapped out where I’m going on two separate websites and before I will assuredly arrive 15 minutes early. (I will then sit in the car and wait, playing a game on my phone created for toddlers with pleasing popping noises and zero strategy required.)

I enjoy yogurt.

I call out line budgers. Okay, more like a very defined and pointed glare.

When the WalMart cashier points out that I left a cucumber in the cart, I say shit like, “Oh HELLO Mr. Cucumber, what are you up to?”

When watching football and one of my fantasy players is heading towards the end zone I stand up and yell shit like “YEP YEP YEP!”

I request mint be smashed in any drink.

I don’t eat a lot of carbs and I talk about not eating a lot of carbs.

I can only master an entry-level ponytail vs. those magnificent high and proud artisanal buns you see on Pinterest.

In the summer I play music that I loved in high school very loud with my windows rolled down. I sing along. My car is a 2000 Honda Civic that hasn’t been cleaned since 2001. That’s an uncool mega trifecta.

After a butt injury, I can’t run anymore, so I power walk (commence uncontrollable uncool weeping).

Yeah. So, that’s pretty much devastating proof that I’m about as cool as a Grandma’s summertime vagina in deep Texas.

I’m only 37 but it’s clear to me that on a scale of cool, I’m Vanilla Ice.

And that’s the cold hard truth. 

Brooke Takhar

Brooke Takhar is a Vancouver-based mama to one goon and busy body to all. She loves the Internet, glittery nail polish, over-sharing and teaching her kid outdated dance moves. If you really love her, you'll fight in public.


  1. Alison Tedford

    Ha! My son says the only time my car is ever clean is when I get a new one or it gets serviced. My family is also “if you’re not early you are late”. I can’t wing directions it must be trip planned. I would happily donate some of the omGs to help bolster your A cup. In solidarity, from another “uncool” mom.

  2. No! Not yogurt! Yogurt is the worst. Except when you haven’t eaten all morning and you’re like OMFG I left a yogurt in the fridge at work and Hallelujah I can eat it before lunch. Uh, so yeah, I guess I’m not cool anymore either.

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