My good friend, Janie, aka Midlife Slices, says that I’ve been mentioning my age a lot. As previously stated, I’m having a bit of a hard time with this particular birthday. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been the youngest of my friends for the most part. In school, I hung out with older kids a lot. I’m also the baby of the family. My siblings were 12, 13 and 17 when I was born. They were really more like extra parents than siblings until I was an adult. I’m supposed to be the young one! Combine these facts with a chronic case of PeterPanitis (I WON’T GROW UP!) and you have a 50 year old woman in denial.
So when Janie commented that I sure was mentioning my age a lot, I decided that I’m going to forget about it. I’m going to carry on like I’m only 49. You know, because I don’t look a day older than 49 according to my
And then today, I get not one but two reminders that I am indeed 49+1:
- My brother, Smitty, called and left me a message. He wanted me to know that he just got his first social security check. He could have left it at that. He could have left me feeling all young and smug because I’m AGES away from collecting social security. But NO, he couldn’t leave well enough alone. He added, “And WOW! You’re fifty now. I remember when you were in diapers!”
- Then my cousin called to see if I had any more grey hair! Stupid, stupid man! I pay good money to make sure that NEVER happens! PS. Dear, stupid cousin is two years older than I am and has no room to poke fun.
My WORDS OF WISDOM for they day: Never tell a fifty year old woman how old she is. She spends a good deal of her day finding ways to convince herself otherwise which may or may not involve multiple glasses of wine.
Lie to me. Tell me I’m young and beautiful. Never mention my age. Bring dark chocolate and good red wine and no one gets hurt.
Sorry, I’m a little P(M)iSsy today.
Hugs and Kisses,
SMB
