Yippee, today is my birthday! I’m 49! I’m feeling great, I still look good with my clothes on, and I can still wear the earrings I wore back in high school! I counted up the liver spots this morning, six on my left hand and three on the right! Not bad eh?
Usually I don’t celebrate or pay attention to my special day, but I’ll only be 49 for a few years.....I better get all I can out of this momentous number. Most say they’re 39 but that’s stupid, who'd believe it? If you’re going to lie, make it reasonable. Unless you’re backing it up with a plethora of plastic surgery it’s too much of a stretch, skin over bone that is, and stitched to your scalp. Of course I joke about being 49, I love being 57, wouldn’t go backwards for all the wool in New Zealand!
Someone was in the shop the other day and thought Shane was my fella and although creepy, not a bad compliment at my age, looking like I could snag a young, good looking “Big Boy” as she called him. The flattery only lasted a moment before my intellect told me to wipe the stupid grin off my face. I told her I wasn’t good looking enough, rich enough or Cher to snag a young man of 35. The fact that we were talking about my son made it a bit weird but Shane wasn’t embarrassed; as a matter of fact he’s used to this. Before he met his wife and with my hubby away most of the time he was my restaurant companion and all those that looked on wondered, some even commented. I viewed it as comedic, the opportunity for a good chuckle. I’m not that delusional, and my thought is always “perhaps they should look into cataract surgery”.
So I don’t want gifts this year but I’m trolling for hugs and smiles. My son pestered me, what do I want for my birthday and I thought and thought and thought, but there was nothing to say. I’ll appreciate a funny card, not one of those sappy ones full of fluff and malarkey. Make fun of my memory, hint that they invented fire the day I was born or perhaps with my failing eyesight, brushed my teeth with Preparation H. Give me a laugh, that’s the best medicine!
Other than that, I have everything I want in spades. Sure, world peace would be nice but sadly, I don’t think it’s ever going to happen. I’d like a healthy pancreas but that’s my cross to bear, everyone has one thing that does them in physically, at least it’s a manageable illness and a lot better than some.
I’m offered discount cards for seniors now. Quite frankly, I’d rather pay full price but it’s always nice to save. Some of my spring has sprung, there’s cracking and aches and it takes the short jaunt to the bathroom each morning before I’m fully erect.
My hair isn’t what it used to be although it was never what I wanted. It’s so flat and fine it won’t even hold a curl. Wishing it was curly and cussing that it wasn’t might have been a self-fulfilling prophecy. Maybe it got fed up from the lack of love and left. Thinking back from this balding position, I now realize my hair was divine, soft and silky, hair others would kill for, especially all those curly haired fools who couldn’t be satisfied with their divine crop. We’re nuts, the lot of us. Why can’t we be satisfied with what we have, stop comparing everything to others and get on with it?
I’d like less wrinkles but like stretchmarks, they’re badges of honour so being stripped of those numerous accolades might be defying nature’s plan and I always play by the rules. My laugh lines aren’t deep enough to lose parts of a sandwich in and I have all my front teeth so I’m still smiling with confidence. At 57, I have a ways to go before I’m looking like a Shar-Pei, I still have one chin and although things are shifting and eroding I look as good as most do at the halfway point.
I have much to be thankful for and I know my luck and good fortune runs deep. I married a very kind man, not by chance either, some things you can’t leave to fate once opportunity knocks. I met him at a dance, sensed he was lovely and then stalked him until we had a first date. I chased but he let himself be caught. The trick you ask? Open a few strategically placed buttons and unless a man is standing over an open grave with a banana peel underfoot and has those before-mentioned cataracts as thick as shoe leather, you’ll have their full attention.
In my fertile years, I gave birth to a handsome and intelligent son that I love to bits. I have lovely, wonderful friends and four dogs that are precious to me; they are my hairy prodigy; I couldn’t love them any more if they had sprung from my womb. I have a career I love and a house as cozy as polar fleece. What more could a gal want?
So what is there to receive? I’ll gladly accept a few hugs and smiles, these are the true gifts. I’ll remember them longer than something to unwrap, Wednesday at the hook-in party I grabbed hugs from all I could get too, there was a bit of a pile up at the door and the crowd was deep. I like to hug human beings, especially warm ones, those with a pulse that is; it’s awkward when they don’t move. (A long story for another time.)
Hugging is a great way to make a connection. I have it down to a science; I bend in and draw them tight to my bosom, constrict with a bit of pressure and then pat their backs. Over the years my personal space allowance has diminished for the better. I’ve gone from, “Hey, back off sunshine!”, to “How about a hug?”, putting it right out there for collection. I used to worry someone might feel my muffin top or notice how much back fat spills over my bra. Now I don’t care. I’m soft and squishy like bread dough and there’s comfort in that. Probably in a few years, I’ll be the equivalent of the Pillsbury dough boy but hopefully not as pale. No matter what age, I’ll still be happy, because what’s outside is nothing like what’s on the inside.
Well I must run. I smell bacon. Hubby is making my birthday breakfast. We had to get up at 6:30 AM to have the pups at the groomers for 8:00 AM for their Christmas clip. After returning home and a short nap while parked in the driveway, I’m now fully awake and hungry. What will today bring......
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