Count Down to Forty

In few short days, I will turn forty.  It's hard to realize I'm that age.  I don't look it, don't feel it, but nevertheless, here it comes.

 

I've decided a few things about forty.  First off, any person that begins with 'Lordy-Lordy' shall be cut off in mid-sentence with verbally or physically.  It raises my hackles.  Come up with something new people.  My inner self says the people that will try will be those who learned the hard way that I don't like 'Marsha-Marsha' either.

 

There's a lot of take about cougars.  What?  I think I'll be a puma instead.

 

My husband says maturity began for him at forty.  That means I have a few short days to grow up?  I think he's full of crap.  I refuse to lose my sense of wonder that being a mature adult seems to suck out of a person.

 

I have deemed forty to be a good year.  And so it shall be.  Mature or not.

Alright, this is not mature.  Do I want to go to a comedy club for my birthday?

No.  I want to go to a topless bar with a goody bag.  Because I'm growing up afterwards.  Anybody suggest such a nefarious birthday?  No.

YES.  Now I shall bitch and moan and tear out my hair, beat my chest and wonder if the people around me actually paid attention to the whole lifestyle change talk.

I'm doing it for myself, yes.  But encouragement and going out in style would be nice.