I’m Definitely Going to Need Cake

So, I’m turning forty tomorrow.  I’m bouncing back and forth from wild jubilation (After all, it is my birthday and there will be presents!!) and despair (40? How did this happen?).  Those that know me are used to the manic way I approach birthdays.  I LOVE them and celebrate them with gusto, and generally those around me are happy to participate.  I bribe them with cake. 

My often repeated line I took right from telethons: If you saved just a dollar a day, and that’s not much to ask.  Just a dollar a day, you’d have $365.00 each year to buy my birthday present.  And if you combined your $365.00 with others, think of the fantastic present you could buy me.  My best friend from high school, dear Kurt (who turned 40 in July – HA! he’ll always be older than me) sent me a dollar several years ago and called it his first installment. 

This year, even though I’ll have a big party (Thank you in advance to Ava and My Honey) today and most of last week, I’ve felt very blasé about the whole thing, which is most definitely NOT like me.  My mom tries to commiserate with me (she is 22 years older – HA – another one who will always be older than me.  Things are looking up) but while I’m in this age induced melancholy, I think I mostly want to wallow in self pity.  I stare at gray hair and pout.   I look at budding crow’s feet and moan.  Songs from when I was in high school are now classic rock.  I accidently found some skinny clothes from fifteen years ago and wanted to jump off a cliff.  I have a picture on my dresser from when I turned 30 and Isabella and another friend took me to Las Vegas.  Man, if I were as fat now as I thought I was then, how happy I’d be.

Tomorrow the sun will come up, the day will have arrived, and my mom assures me that I’ll feel exactly the same as I did the day before.  Crap.