So, 30-34 is early, 35-37 is mid, and 38-39 are the late thirties. In my mind.
Which is an unequal distribution, but come on. We live in a society where we become irrelevant at 27, so we're basically old farts for the last three-quarters of our lives. We've got to stretch that youngness out as long as possible in order to remain valid human beings.
Or do we?
I think maybe no. I've felt old all of my life. Maybe that's why I have no illusions about looking any younger than I am. I always looked older, as a teenager and stuff, because of my size and stature, and now I look older because of this glorious Irish skin (as my grandma used to say) that gets more and more spotty, red, and wrinkled every day. Thanks for the skin, guys.
There is just never enough moisturizer.
At any rate, I guess I don't mind being an old fart. It's not so bad. I don't like my parents getting older and more achy, and I certainly don't like the idea of my husband getting large masses of ear hair and not being able to lift heavy stuff, but there's not really a whole lot I can do about any of that.
Plus, I get a little closer to that magic age where I automatically stop caring about what I look and/or smell like every year. I'm not sure exactly when it'll hit, but I'm pretty excited about worrying about one or two less things. Bonus? AARP. Also, you get that National Parks Pass and you can take classes at the local college for only $5 per credit hour. I'm going to go back and get me a cheap degree, just for fun. Maybe by that time they'll actually offer one in underwater basket weaving, because that would be hilarious.
So, I'm okay with late thirties, I suppose. I just wish I had a lawn to tell the damn kids to stay off of. Or off of which to tell the damn kids to stay. Either way, kids. Watch it. I'm not getting any friendlier.
No comments:
Post a Comment