Yes, it's my last day as an official card-carrying "thirty-something". Remember that show? I thought they were so old and kinda boring. It would be interesting to go back now and watch it, having gone through my thirties, been married, had kids, jobs, houses, all that jazz.
It's funny: I don't feel forty. Not by a long shot. I mean, I look in the mirror and I do see wrinkles, oh, excuse me, laugh lines...which don't go away anymore when I stop laughing. But other than that deserved result of too much baking in the sun as a teen, I still just see...me.
I don't see the tell-tale physical signs which make up the stereotype of someone advancing in age. Most of the time, I have no makeup on (don't really need it) and my hair back in a ponytail (haven't surrendered to the convention that 'older' women should have short hair). No sign of grey in said hair. My vision's still perfect, so no glasses, reading or otherwise. I spend time on the floor with the kids and don't grunt or groan when I get up.
As for the way I act? I can sing along with the same music my teenaged nieces are listening to. I still run. I make it out on the dance floor at every wedding or event, and usually close down each set. My social views are more enlightened rather than becoming more conservative. And I probably feel sexier now than ever before.
I've come to the conclusion that age is truly a state of mind. And my mind? Is pretty oblivious to the black-and-white evidence on my driver's license. Yeah, it's there, but not gonna hide it, or kvetch or moan. Not my style.
And maybe, just maybe, it's thoughts like that which keep me "young" in the first place.
Instead of a black-balloon birthday, I'm hitting Forty and Fabulous tomorrow. Happy birthday to me! :)