I lied to the health department about my age.
Of course, it wasn’t intentional. I didn’t mean to lie. It’s just that I’m so old I must be getting senile, because I can’t seem to remember where I am in this decade of my life.
If I was intentionally being creative with my age, I definitely would’ve said twenty-nine or thirty, but thirty-eight slipped from my lips. As soon as the number escaped, it didn’t sound right. I kept the conversation going, but my brain was calculating, and you all know how good I am at math.
It seems a lot of women became ill after the conference I recently attended and the health department was calling to find out what I ate.
Food tastes better when someone else is cooking, so I ate it, cheesecake and all. Thankfully I didn’t get sick, but I don’t think it was about the food anyway. It was a real-life Outbreak.
So here’s the deal. I’m really thirty-nine. That’s big news. I mean, it’s the last year of my thirties. I think forty is probably the onset of all things demential.
Good grief! When did that happen?
Shouldn’t I be celebrating the last of my lingering youth, the fact that I still have all my teeth, and I can touch my toes?
When this year is complete, it needs a marker of sorts, something to look back on and remember. I need to build an altar, so all those who come after me will see and know God got me all the way to forty. It will give all the twenty-somethings hope (or make them jump off a bridge, but whatever).
It’s like I’m becoming my mother. (Only she’s
really old now not so old. Wish her a Happy Birthday please, because it was yesterday.)
I remember when my mother turned 40. I helped plan her party. All the family came to my grandparents and we decorated with tombstones. Black was the color of choice and I remember thinking boy is my mom old.
It’s different now that I’m about to wear forty with pride. I’m sure my kids will look at the number just like I did. They’ll think I probably have another four or five years left before I trade in my curling iron for a cane.
Youth has a way of tricking the mind out of its good sense.
The truth is I’m really not sad to see this last year of my thirties pass. I mean, it’s too quick. Time marches to a fast beat and I wish it would slow down, but I’m good with getting older. Each new year is a blessing some don’t get.
I want to celebrate each day of thirty-nine and then face forty with all the bravery of so many woman before me.
We celebrate too little, but that’s another topic for another day.
Today I will wear thirty-nine with pride. I won’t even lie about my age, at least I won’t on purpose…unless of course you talk to my kids, because then I’m twenty-nine. No doubt about it!
As for my mom, I have no clue what age she’s wearing these days. I think it changes with her mood.
Happy Birthday Mom. Love you.
The Illiterate Author says
Happy birthday to your Mom! And I can’t speak from experience, but 40 doesn’t sound so bad.
Karla Smith says
Hey I am awaiting my 60th (in 3 1/2 years) and I feel younger now than I did when I was 40… through diet..divorce (living independent–yay! after an oppressive marriage). You are as young as you feel… and you feel younger if you think positive and learn to like yourself. I’m living proof!
Wait till the ’50’s. That’s when i decided on a major attitude change…more fun. though I am thinking that’s not an issue for you! Fun post and happy birthday to your mom.
Trading in our curling for canes, you say? Ain’t gonna happen! You will make 40 look fabulous. Enjoy this last year in your 30s!
Happy Birthday to your Mom! I’m so glad she had you! You bring a lot of joy and smiles to your readers through your uplifting posts!