On Saturday, March 7th, I turned thirty-five years old.
*Excuse me while I breathe into this paper bag for a moment.*
Um, hellloooo...how the hell did THAT happen? You know, how did I become a GROWN-UP? Wasn't it just yesterday that I was rockin' the grunge look with my flannel shirts and torn up jeans? Or getting a tattoo for my twenty-third birthday? You'd have done it too if you were driving a minivan and changing three kids diapers at twenty-three! I had to do something to act my age!
But now acting my age is not wearing mini-skirts. Keeping my hair color in the 'naturally occurs in nature' range. Having the bag-boy at the grocery store call me 'ma'am'. I AM NOT A FUCKING MA'AM! Wait a minute, I am a ma'am. I'm old enough to be a ma'am. I hardly ever get carded when I order a drink. I'm getting GRAY HAIR, crow's feet and crooked toes!
So let this be a notice to the world - I am no longer having any birthdays. This is the last one. EVER. I refuse to ever grow any older than thirty-five.
After all, my mother is only thirty-nine...
And Cousinbff isn't going to get any older either. She's gonna have to stop at thirty-three.
And we will all live happily ever after...