Friday, July 28, 2017

What My Thirties Have Tought Me So Far ...In Horrific Detail

Not me, but getting makeup on my hands and not my face is a pretty frequent occurrence.

Morning Readers,

I didn't mention it at the time, but I turned thirty-three a couple weeks ago.

It's ok. I'll take any applause you can give me for making it this far. My journey through life looks a little like a toddler trying to eat soup with a fork. Finesse.

This year, I had to accept that I'm solidly adrift in adulthood. For a while, I thought I could cling to the late twenties raft, but it sprang a leak, and, all of the sudden, I was an exhausted Rose, wrestling a worn out door, hoping my body fat reserves would get me through.

The morning my birthday dawned, the Kellerman children were twice as excited as I was.

"Can I have cereal?"

"Last night, you said I could pick the first show when I woke up. It's the morning."

"Did you wash any underwear yesterday? I think I didn't find any this week."

Finally, the four-year-old wandered downstairs, yawned, and glanced in my direction. "Your birthday today?"

I sipped my coffee and nodded. "Yep."

"You have a good one, k?" He thought for a second. "Oh, and I need a fruit bar and some milk. Oh, and Mom?"

I smiled. "Yes?

"I need underwear too."

All wasn't lost. I'd started my special day at 5AM, unable to shut my eyes after convincing Mrs. Jones that one-year-olds had no business being up that early. Three, solid hours of quiet had given me a chance to work out, watch a documentary on Dolly Parton, and drink enough caffeine to be perfectly aware of how old I felt. Not as old as Dolly, but she'd already made twenty gold records by my age, so who the hell was I?

Who, indeed.

In those three hours, I had ample time to examine my life thus far, and here's what I know about being thirty-three:

1. I don't care.

It took me a while to get here, but I officially don't care what anyone thinks of what I do, how I dress, and my day-to-day. Unless you're my momma or Jesus, I ain't got time for it. (Unless you see me talking to myself in the frozen food isle and I, clearly, forget to put on a bra. Even then, just look away or grab a Snickers. Whatev.)

2. Intimidation is a non-issue

When I was a teenager, walking past a group of boys always made me feel self conscious. Were they looking? Did they smile at me? Was my mascara sliding off, resulting in some sort of sad clown incident?

Now that I've rounded thirty, that's a thing of the past. At the pool the other day, a group of teenage boys was blocking a direct path to my ratty towel shaped like a whale. Without thinking about it, I walked right through them, a female Moses parting a sea of iPhones and acne. "Thanks," I shouted, while my stretch marks drove them back toward the concession stand.

3. Nature's taking its course

A few weeks back, an envelope arrived, bearing my new driver's license. Stricken, I called up the DMV, "Hello?"

A cheerful woman picked up. "Yes?"

"You sent the wrong license. Dull hair. Bags under the eyes. Papery skin. This is the Crypt Keeper."

"No returns unless you're dead."

"I might be."

4. Worry is like a rocking chair

Something to do, but it doesn't get you anywhere. That ridiculous crap will work itself out.

5. Crow's feet are a real thing

6. Mortality Awareness

Life's too short not to go out and take a decent shot at your goals. Seriously. Haul out that bucket list and start checking things off, because the angels are gonna come get your butt one day, and the last words out of your mouth shouldn't be, "I wondered what would've happened if I had done x,y,z..."

7. I can't wear anything with rhinestones on it. I just look ridiculous.


Until Next Time, Readers!



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