A number that tells you and everyone how many years you’ve been on this planet.

My goal was always to age gracefully. Then I hit 30something and all of a sudden if someone wanted to know how old I was I wanted to hit them in the face with a skillet. Non violently though.

I will say I have good genes and I look younger than what I am. Though he’ll always be the sexiest most beautiful man to me ever, my sweetheart is not aging as well as me. And I won’t lie and say he doesn’t care. Lord he does. He’s more vain than me–but despite this post I am not that vain. Really. I’m not my mother! I’m not! Or my father. My sister. Yeah…vanity runs in the family. But I am the least vain of all that’s a fact. I basically am on fuck it mode 90something¬†% of the time. Fuck it is the same as Forget It I Give Up right?

Anyway, this week I felt both young and old. Young because someone who probably is about my age called me “Miss” rather than “Ma’am”. That’s a big deal when you get to be 30something give or take a something. I also heard someone complaining that he wished he could go back to the 80s. I was too young to really enjoy all of the fun the 80s could offer. Where they could go back to partying 80s style in the 80s my parties consisted of slumber parties.

Then I realized something about my job. I am probably one of the oldest people there. I’m not old enough for that. I’m not even close to retirement age though I would retire in a second if I won the lotto. Thing is, this has happened to me at work before. Maybe I belong in a youthful workplace. Maybe my maturity level is more twenty something.

Or maybe I don’t care. Maybe age doesn’t really matter. Maybe I have my “God I’m old” moments but they’re just those…moments.

Now excuse me. My feet hurt and I’m cold. I need a massage and to be wrapped in a warm blanket the rest of the night. Though it’s still light out.



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