So I suppose you're all wondering how I feel, now that I'm forty. Forty doesn't feel all that different from 39, to tell you the truth. This may be because, in my mind, I'm still 39. And I always will be. No, no, I'm joking. People have been telling me all week that your forties are supposedly awesome. I hear Oprah says you haven't even truly arrived in your life until your forties. If that's the case, now that I'm here, I expect to be greeted with someone to carry my bags and maybe a nice little mini-bar. Or at the very least, a cold Diet Coke.
No, no, no--actually, I prefer to focus on the pronouncement my friend Kathy made to me the other day, the day that I found out I am FIVE WHOLE YEARS OLDER than she is despite the fact that our daughters are the same ages, and then had a heart attack when I realized that by the time she finally turns 40, I will be FORTY-FIVE. I realize that is simple math and should not constitute a major realization. However, I just about fainted at the time. Thankfully, Kathy told me that I'm so hip, in shape, and rocking the whole nonstop-active-mom gig that I seem more like, say, 32.
So there you have it. Forty is the new 32. My mantra for the entire year. Just go with it.