Written by Deb
I remember very clearly being in such a big hurry to turn 40. So much so, from the time I turned 35, I would round up and tell people I was "approaching 40." I even subscribed to that magazine specifically for the over 40 set, More, when I was only 38 (I know, I am such a rule breaker. Or just really, really stupid.).
Looking back, I don't know what the rush was (duh), but I think I was under the severely misguided impression that I would somehow magically morph into Sela Ward or Andie McDowell. And let's not forget that stupid Oprah was running around, claiming that turning 50 was the cure for all of life's woes, from insecurity to world hunger. I was desperate to catch up!
So here I am, firmly entrenched in my 40's, and will confess that I am feeling a bit betrayed... both by Oprah and my own body. I guess if I were to look at myself objectively, I can see some minor improvement on the psychological front. I'm a little more mature than I used to be, which I suppose has its advantages. I no longer dig the drama that used to invigorate me. I don't feel bitter about having to make my bed every day. I even use a crock-pot and am not ashamed to admit it. So that's all good, right?
This list of products I have to use to keep my under-eye bags in check is growing exponentially. I need a de-wrinkler, a de-puffer, a deflector, a concealer, a corrector, foundation, and powder and I still look tired.
There is a four-way grudge match going on between my wrinkles, my pimples, my freckles and my rogue skin tags.
I have been catching myself talking to the TV, saying things like, "I know!", "That's right!", and "Amen!"
I have uttered the words, "Kids these days," and meant it.
I found myself admiring the hearing aids that Lee Majors endorses. They do seem very discreet, and I like how the batteries recharge in that cute little box.
My mind has one foot out the door.
I have all these unexplained aches and pains.
Those pesky 5 extra pounds I need to lose like to disguise themselves as 20.
I am collecting pets and I don't feel weird about it.
But, I guess the good news is my bladder seems to be holding up pretty well, and I don't have any urge to go get my hair 'set'.
And the best news of all? I still love to laugh. Thank God for small blessings, right?