Well, another birthday hit last week - all I will say is that when asked how old I am I now answer: "I haven't decided yet." Lest anyone think that's an attempt to hide the fact I've headed over into the land of 40s, it is not. But I am truly trying to prepare myself for when that odometer ticks over. And yes, I don't have many more years to go.
"Jeez," many of you will say. "What a lam-o MM is. Who CARES how old you are??"
Uh, that would be narcissistic me.
There are times when age is important. Getting a driver's license. Being able to marry someone without your parents permission. Buying a margarita (which I seriously need right now.) But I wish we just stopped counting. Because I can see over the hill (yes, pun intended) and I don't think it's going to be that pretty. I can smell ageism just ahead. And please, yes, it exists.
So, I am going to stop counting. And given my penchant for forgetting people's names, I am hoping this pre-demetia continues and I truly forget how old I actually am.