Another Birthday

by | Oct 27, 2009 | Life | 19 comments

I am 20 years past 17. Officially. Today. Thanks for showing up, Birthday.

Another Birthday

I loved 17. 

I never really thought about 20 years past 17 when I was 17. I just thought about boys. And college. Boys at college. I didn’t even appreciate glitter.

I guess to some extent, we do get better with age?


For the record, I married a boy from college… I wasn’t 17 then either. I was 22. *mathmathmath* That was almost 15 years ago.

How did I get closer to being 50 than 15? Not that anything is wrong with 50 – for other people. *eyes crossing*

The years… they deepen my “smile” lines. Highlight my aching joints. The years they laugh and point as more frequently I realize, “I can’t do THAT like THAT anymore…”

I mean I CAN. I am like The Little Engine That Could. Except I run on glitter, not coal. It all just looks a lot different and may take longer these days…

Who knew I would grow such a passion for orthopedic inserts and glucosamine… Vitamin B, thyroid medication and the never ending quest for hormone balance?

Who. Knew.

But you know what AGING?… I got glitter.

I got ‘tude.

I got 3 kids who make fun of me. Stretch marks, “bat wings”… Aaaand yes, I got a few achy joints.

You know what’s even youthier, tho…. Birthday? I have photo editing tools. That’s right. With the power of photo editing apps … I. May. Never. Age.

Smile lines. Yay.

Some people call the developing lines on one’s face a “road map” of sorts. Of living and loving and more living.

I have a driver’s license that expires today. I am already planning what weight I will give. See what aging does to me? It makes me scheme.

I have developing wrinkles. I wear a retainer at night. I even bought denture cleaner. For my retainer, but still. It’s another step.

I find that lotion has been come a dear and treasured friend. Hydration!

I find I must carry more “stuff”. “Camouflage”, if you will.

This is war, you know. All warriors dress in camo.

Especially those of us waging war against facial road maps and whathaveyou.

I am not a good sport about this “aging thing”.

Not. At. All.

If there were a way to slice this age progression with a knife, I would. Oh wait. I’m kidding. I would never get plastic surgery.

I know. I should embrace my womanhood and love the wrinkles, stretch marks, sags… all evidence of a life well-lived.

Or evidence of too many cookies.


I have to go get ready. I have to do my hair. Put on war paint. And lie to the DMV about how much I weigh.


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