I thought it was going to be traumatic last year when I turned f-f-f-forty. See? It's hard for me to even write it out. So, I chose to ignore it, brush it off, pretend it wasn't happening. But today I'm officially in my forties and can no longer avoid this sneaky, creeping up on me, aging thing.
And, I'm not gonna lie, it's still hard. I don't feel 41. At least, most of the time I don't. Just yesterday, one of my lovely, sweet co-workers
Come to think of it, I don't know what's worse, the false compliments or the people who don't even blink an eye when you tell them your age. Like, could you at least humor me and pretend to be shocked? Call me vain, but I think the automatic acceptance of my age, especially from a younger person, makes me feel worse. Especially since I remember thinking how ancient 40 seemed back in my twenties.
Then again, it can also suck when someone makes a remark like, "Wow, you're 41? I had no idea you were that old - I would never have guessed." Like being 41 suddenly makes you a senior citizen or something. Sigh. It's a no-win situation for me. No matter how I look at it, no one can say the right thing. But, that's just typical, Libra me. I over-analyze, think the worse and then in the end? I finally realize that it's all in this borderline-schizo head of mine.
So, I'm gonna take Fonzie's advice, shut the f**k up, put on my birthday hat and stop apologizing for being 41. That's my age and there's nothing I or anyone else can do about it.
Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a nice bottle of Shiraz on the counter with my name on it. Yes, I know it's not quite noon yet, but I thought I'd pour myself a glass and catch up on some re-runs of the Golden Girls, um, I mean Glee, yes that's it, Glee. Isn't that what all the kids are into these days? Cheers!! (no, not the t.v. show, I was toasting everyone. Yes, on my birthday. Ok, I'll stop it now...)