Youngsters

Zach and I went to a friend's birthday party at a Hollywood club on Friday night.

I had no idea what people wear to clubs, since I'd never been to one, but I did my best and ended up wearing a low-cut top—well, as low-cut a top as I can carry off under the circumstances—and significantly more makeup than I have worn in years.

I felt a bit awkward about going out clubbing for the first time—I'm in my early forties, after all, and it seemed like an age-inappropriate activity.

But then I realized that at least part of me was in the right demographic.

Because while I'm middle-aged by traditional measures, I actually have the breasts of a 25-year-old.

(You know, on average.)