So Immature

 

I’ve been particularly irregular lately. Is that just something that is expected to happen from time to time and therefore requires no explanation or apology? Irregularity makes me feel uncomfortable, so I want to acknowledge it, but I’m also trying to give myself some grace because I’m doo-ing the best that I can.

I missed writing uh-gehhhhn last week. (What did you think I was talking about?) I have been working a lot lately, and that tends to constipate my creativity a bit. Know what helps me let loose? Getting together with the girlz.

We celebrated a friend’s 50^th birthday this week. FIFTY. I can’t believe she is fifty. When I expressed this notion to Audrey, she was confused. “Well, YOU are over fifty, and Miss Becky is around your age, so…..”

Right. Thanks for that information. It didn’t faze me to turn 50, and my age rarely crosses my mind. But Becky is just darling and beautiful and I have never considered that she was anywhere near 50. Actually, I don’t think of ANY of my friends as being at or around that age.

The four of us met when we all ended up living on the same street 17 years ago. Beth was already there, steady and established. She had the “big boys” who were tweens at the time. Then Allie, Becky, and I all rolled into the neighborhood in the Summer of 2004. The three of us had a total of 8.5 children under the age of 6. (Allie was still “in a family way” at the time.)

So that means that Becky was 33 years old when we met. And that’s kind of the age I always perceive her. It makes a ton of sense when I think about it. Although we have supported each other through some unbelievably effed-up life experiences, Becky doesn’t actually look very much different than the day we met.

I would even go so far as to declare that we ALL look much more beautiful than we did in our 30s. It’s amazing how relaxation and radiance have a chance to shine through when you DGAF what others think of you anymore. And the juvenile jokes that crack us all the way up? Definitely not at all befitting of actual mid-life ladies. Here’s a picture of us after dinner. Can you even believe all that sparkle??

Collectively we have 209 years of experience under our belts. Was it the Chippendale’s dancers that made us all glowy? Good Lord, no. We’re fifty-ish remember? While you might never guess our ages by gazing upon our lovely faces, our lady parts don’t lie. Want to have a good guess at a woman's age? Ask to look at her vagina. Why so shallow, Rodan & Fields??

The way we celebrated may not seem as exciting as male strippers, but it was way more enjoyable and at least 500% less sweaty. And being less sweaty is a fundamental daily goal with women our age. We just enjoyed a nice dinner with a couple bottles of wine, two desserts, and hours of conversation. Wanna know what a fancy, fun time we had? I got home AFTER TEN PM.

A Facebook memory popped up just today from 2014. I was wearing the exact same dress that I wore to Becky’s birthday dinner. Maybe this is the secret to looking young. Just keep wearing the same, old clothes for over seven years.

Complaining about age seems irrational to me. If I’m not getting older, what’s the alternative? I mean, you’re either one minute older or you’re dead, right? So I hope I always remember that aging is a privilege that a whole lot of people don’t get to have. And there’s not a single day of my life that I haven’t had at least one, tiny thing to be grateful for. Even on my very hardest, unpleasant days, I have family and friends who love me and breath in my lungs to say, “Thanks for that.”

I am grateful for each and every one of you.
Thank you for reading!