Every year, I ring in the new year one year older and a pound heavier. 2013 is no exception. That’s the problem of having a post-Christmas birthday. It’s kind of a double-whammy.
In my opinion, once you finally reach 21, getting a year older ranks right up there with visits to the dentist and gynecologist. Since I really like my dentist and gynecologist, I look forward to my birthday the least now.
Don’t get me wrong: I love having a special day in my life, and I’m certainly glad to be living another year on this earth, but I did frown a little when I no longer could say I was 43 this year.
Gasp! I’ve come to the realization that I’m only six years away from the big 5-O.
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Getting an AARP card just doesn’t seem as joyful as buying your first drink in a bar.
Seriously, I can’t help but laugh when I see a 25-year-old post on her friend’s Facebook wall that they are so “old” now.
Yeah, I thought that, too, at one time. But 25 — old? Wait ’til you turn 44, girls.
On your 44th birthday, you’ll try to recapture your youth and visit your college alma mater in hopes of getting just one of your children to like your University over N.C. State. Not that there is anything wrong with N.C. State! I’m just saying that I wish I wasn’t the only person in my family who loves to wear Carolina blue.
And, of course, since it’s more than 20 years since you graduated from college, nothing is as you remember on campus, either. Half the things on Franklin Street weren’t even there when you were in college. Sweatshirt stores are replaced with high-end clothing boutiques. Bet my dad was glad they weren’t there when I was in college.
You’ll indulge on your birthday lunch with a bacon, lettuce, and fried green tomato and end the brisk afternoon with a French vanilla cupcake topped with a Carolina Blue accent, of course.
By 6 p.m, you feel overly full and tired as if you had partied all night, but without drinking one drop of alcohol. You spend the rest of the evening in your pajamas on the couch, watching back-to-back shows of HGTV’s “Property Brothers.” Your husband gets the kids to bed.
Wow! You realize that the age of 44 is not that bad. It’s nice to be blissfully lazy.
And God certainly knew what he was doing in my life because my son has his birthday just three days after mine.
For his sake, I’m over my birthday blues and am ready to party with a big fat cake from the Farmer’s Market on his big day.
After all, those birthdays under the age of 21 certainly need celebrating.
No one counts calories until the New Year anyway! That’s right. I indulged. Hence, the pound heavier I mentioned earlier.