Turning 40

I friggin WISH I was turning 40!  I was a 175lbs when I turned 40 and I wore a size 12 and looked scrumptious.  I'll never forget that day--we had a party in the back yard and a friend of mine helped cater and serve.  It was hotter than Hades but hell if I was not going to wear my birthday outfit:  Delicious Calvin Klein jeans with a sleeveless electric blue silk top and long gold chains with coins on them adorning my neck.  Oh yes, and I had electric blue toenails and fingernails to go with it!  (Blue is my favorite color!)

But here I sit, about to turn 43 next month and somehow I've ballooned up to 215lbs.  Those Calvin Klein jeans have been stored away (for what, I don't know) and I cannot really bear the thought of ushering in birthday number 43 with this heavy burden both on my ass and in my heart.

Like a new car you drive off the lot, depreciation begins immediately.  After a few years shit just starts to fall off.  Things rust.  Wear out.  Need to be replaced.  Things loosen, slip, bulge and need oiling.  And no matter how much care you take there's always another screw loose here or a nut missing there.  For the first time every in the history of my life, I actually do NOT look forward to my birthday.

No one who knows me would believe it but its true this year.  The number never bothered me but the aches and pains do.  The extra weight and extra sweating does.  My ITP does and my teenage acne which grew into adult acne and is now considered hormonal acne does too.

Turning 40 was great, but 43?  in the words of my wise and brilliant older sister: "This is BULLSHIT!"