Happy Birthday to Me

I don’t mind singing “Happy Birthday to YOU”…it’s really "Happy Birthday to ME" that I don’t care for...although I do appreciate living another year. I just don’t care for the sound of the numbers as they fall on the pig pile I have already accumulated.

I remember when I was young and middle-aged people seemed sooooo old. Now these cronies are my homies, my peeps. I also remember no one at Woodstock would trust anyone over 30. I wonder if now ex-Woodstockers don’t trust anyone under 30?

I find the little ditty sayings about aging annoying . They’re something the Hallmark people came up with to soften the blow of it all…little cutesy sayings that try to make you feel like you are not the codger that you are. Fabulous at Forty, Fifty is nifty, Sixty is sexy, Sultry at seventy. Woooah……with the crap. After age 40, I wasn’t falling for it…I was old enough to know better. Here’s my suggestion for Hallmark’s octogenarians and nonagenarians: Eighty is Ancient. Ninety is Not Fun.

You’ve heard the tiring adage: You are as old as you feel. More propaganda to disguise what is really going on. When I first wake up and open my eyes I do feel like the college co-ed that I was at groovy UV. But then I open my eyes in the bathroom mirror and quickly realize I’m not that college co-ed. Yikes…where did she go? And I’m also not that same co-ed who could stay up until 2am and look refreshed in the morning. Scary! Even with major beauty sleep…I’m still the Beast. Note to self: Dispose of all mirrors.

But there’s no sense on dwelling too long on my age. Age is only a number right? Wait. Again…stop with trying to soften the blow.

Happy Birthday to me.