Thursday, February 12, 2015

My 40th birthday didn’t scare me.  I was kind of looking forward to entering a new decade.  I told myself all kinds of things that are mostly true.  Stuff like, age is just a number…The older you get, the more comfortable you are in your own skin…40 is the new 30…

I’m here to tell you that was a bunch of crap.  The second I turned 40, stuff started falling apart.  I mean, MY stuff.  As in ME.

For starters, I woke up on my 40th birthday with a really horrible rash.  It was ugly, and itchy, and when I finally went to the doctor he was totally nonplussed.  The last thing you want to hear from your doctor is, “WOW.  We need to get you on some serious steroids, like Right. Now.”

I didn’t think that my eyesight could get any worse.  But as soon as I turned 40, I had to start wearing reading glasses on top of my contacts.  And when I say “reading glasses” I mean my kids’ glasses that I steal off their faces when I can’t read a label or thread a needle.  Because who buys readers when they already wear glasses? 

I realized that I was starting to look my age when I went to Sephora for a makeover, and the adorable sales associate suggested I use gel eyeliner to make it easier to work with the “texture” around my eyes.  Texture.  Great.  Not only do I have wrinkles, but I look like a woman who would be really upset to learn that she has wrinkles. 

Also, I will spare you the details.  But this.
So here I am, just a few days post 41st Birthday.  So far, it’s been uneventful.  But I’m not going to get caught off guard this time.  I have This is 40 at the ready.  I bought some fancy eye cream, and I’m ready for my NovaSure procedure.  40 might not actually be the new 30.  But thirty-eleven is about to get Clovered.


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