So an apology for taking so long to post....YLM is off in her land of joy and work (!) and I have been wailing away as another birthday passed making my days with a Botox appointment seem closer. Seriously, while Botox is not something I would actually consider (Why are we supposed to believe that the poison just dissipates --- dissipates WHERE?), it is hard to face another birthday.
I asked the rabbit how old she thought I was, and she said; "OLD, Mama. You're old." This on top of The Prince pointing out that Ashley Olsen (I think it was her...) had "porked out." Nice. Now I have to strive to remain as anorexic as a 3rd grader.
I know I should be happy just being healthy and alive and all that. But somehow I never thought I would be rethinking those proud statements I used to toss around like a casual throw: "Plastic Surgery? I love the idea of having wrinkles. They'll show I've lived!" (and lived, and lived...) Or my favorite: "I can't wait to have long gray hair! It'll be beautiful." (That was until The Rabbit told me she had blonde hair and I had gray hair...And my father announced during an afternoon lunch that, '"Wow. You're really gray." I have an appointment with the colorist next week....really.)
So how old am I? I will say that while I am south of 40, I am north of 30. And if I forget the actual number, that's fine with me. Some of you will glare at that and say I am a whiner. Fine. That's fine. I just know that I've reached the point where having a little memory loss is, in the words of Martha Stewart, a good thing.