My mother and I never really had an about life conversation except one. Upon turning 40, she made it a point to enlighten me that there would come a day soon, when I would wake up and feel like everything had changed. The problem with this conversation is she didnt expound upon such change. For me, the magic number was 42.
It was as if I did wake up an entirely different person in someone eles body. No longer could I jump down off a chair with ease. No. Now the experience leaves me with an electrical current, surging throughout my entire body. The pain lasts only a few seconds but is a quick reminder of the crossover stage in my life.
It would have been nice if my mother would have mentioned that I would immediatley become ultra-conservative with a very strong opinion. Overnight I willingly adopted the attitude of,“I will speak my mind and dont give a rats ass who disagrees.” I was in shock to find myself listening and agreeing with Republican points of view! Strange twist, comming from an Ol’ Dead Head whose political agenda was “Love the one you’re with.”
Now mind you, this was an immediate transition. A transition from coloring my hair just to change the color to..coloring my hair to hide the gray and pray it lasts longer then 3.5 days! A transition from being able to eat anything I want to,to eating a green pepper that will bloat and give me gas for days and the mere thought of a cupcake will form a tire that begins mid lower back and proceeds to the front of my stomach. A tire that now requires, yes, exercise and no longer a 3 day fasting! As well, I now must hold all reading material an entire arms distance and no amount of lotion is going to tighten up the skin on the back of my hands. And dont even get me started on the wild hairs!.One could only hope that their husband would notice and point out the 6 inch wild hair protruding from my collar bone. Nope. Made that mad discovery all on my own.
And speaking of husbands, men are clueless. When I tell you NOT to turn off the ceiling fan at night, the forceful shove in the middle of the night means…I MEAN IT! And romance, yeah, ya might wanna hit me up for that BEFORE I ingest 2 tylonal pm. Just sayn.
I must say, there is a sense of relief to know that each month, I could very well be spitting out my last viable egg and its a sheer pleasure to pass on the peeing on the pregnacy stick to the next generation. I do find it ironic that my family can tell if I missed my estrogen pill, just from the tone of my voice. Seems the little pink sucker keeps me from wanting to flip a car. Go figure.
Anyone that makes the statement that the 40’s are now the new 30’s are NOT in their 40’s and delusional or are in complete denial, but …dysfunctional denial can never be a good thing. Its that kind of denial that tells you you can still dance the night away and hang till last call and wake up the next day a hot hurtn mess. The kind of denial that tells you that belly button piercing is still sexy…NOT! The kind of denial that tells you that little string bikni can still turn the heads of the younger male species. Note to self…..just because you can buy one, does not mean you should be wearing it, this includes tube tops and booty shorts.
Welp, there goes my I don’t give a rats ass opinion again.