This is 40
I wasn’t particularly concerned with turning 40. Until Ali plastered the walls with foil signs that read “Happy 40th Birthday!”
Yes I know he meant well. Yes I know I should appreciate his efforts to decorate more. But I’m just throwing it out there that the number 40 looks VERY large and ominous in printed form.
Plus one sign was substantially crooked. (Sorry, I couldn’t hold that back.)
As I waited for Ali to join me for my birthday lunch I concluded that I really don’t feel 40.
(Side Note: My husband was 25 minutes late to lunch…nothing new there. Sorry, I couldn’t hold that back either.)
Okay, so I mostly don’t feel 40. Especially if I ignore my:
- bad knees
- gray hair
- unpredictable temper (not sure if this has anything to do with age but it seems to be getting worse)
In any case, my wrinkles, gray hair, and bad knees are limping onwards to 50.
This means that Ali has exactly one decade to learn to be on time. And to use a leveler when hanging a foil “Congratulations, you’re over the hill” sign.
I’m not holding my breath.