It’s hard to believe another birthday has come and gone. I don’t do much to celebrate them anymore. Looking back on all the stupid stuff I did in my youth and didn’t die is quite adequate.
I mean, seriously, breaking up with a switchblade carrying hothead on a dark and lonely street? Painting my fingernails while driving to work? Distracting my driver by definitely not painting his nails?
At least I’ve retained my gleefully licentious nature, as you can tell, and enough loved ones to patiently laugh at my lurid joking. But now I’m just a dirty old lady instead of a hotly pursued paramour.
Loping toward the surprisingly attainable half century mark, I can say I am healthier than as a girl. My body is strong, if not exactly fit. And I can still swim like the otters, which I used to joke were probably my real parents.
It is regretful that I’m now shaped more like a manatee. I also miss the joy of swimming a murky lake with a young lover. It’s amazing what a couple can do when one of you is virtually unsinkable.
Ah, memories. Thank heaven I still have them.
So, my dears, do you do anything special to celebrate your birthday?