I will turn thirty-nine on Saturday.
Yes, I do realize that thirty-nine does not need spelled out. For some reason, seeing the 3 and the 9 side-by-side causes me stress...for some reason. If it is all the same to you, I will just spell it out - thirty-nine.
Not sure why the "9" birthdays bother me so much. The "0" birthdays are fine. What really freaks me out? The "5" birthdays!
Have you ever noticed that when you reach at "5" birthday you go up a box? You know what I mean. The little warranty cards, insurance quotes... For my 35th (I can type that one out since it happened so long ago) birthday my husband bought me a crock-pot (that is another blog.)
The next day I started filling out the warranty card (What? It was a nice crock-pot.) There it was in black and white: check this box if you are 35 - 44 years-old! Seriously? What? All of a sudden, there were not 20's in my box! No 20's at all! They were replaced by 40's! How dare the warranty companies think that my shopping style would match someone in their 40's? Are they nuts? After all, I was a vital, live, and active YOUNG woman!
I never filled out the warranty card. The crock-pot died last year. I wanted to bury it with the warranty card tucked neatly inside its well-used ceramic self; however, I did not. I kept it. We moved this summer. The pot came with us. For some reason I cannot seem to part with it. Letting go of the pot almost feels like letting go of my 20's.
I loved my 20's. My home was full of small children and their screaming friends. "Life" was all around me.
Just three days before my thirty-ninth birthday, and here I sit here stressing over the next warranty card. What if the next one I need to fill out uses a thirty-nine to forty-nine age range? I may pass out! I am not ready to be targeted with advertisements for a fifty-year-old! I am a healthy, vibrant woman. My FBS only acts up on long trips - anything over 45 minutes is long, right? My back only snaps a few times each morning. My hair is not going grey...yet. My legs are still sexy (according to my non-appliance-giving husband.) My young-adult sons still get mad at their friends who say I am "Hot." I am the cool mom on the block: we party with Rock Band for Wii until 2am, eat pizza and popcorn till we vomit, and drink sugar and caffeine loaded drinks till midnight (of course this only happens on occasion now, but dang it, I still have "it!")
Please tell me you have experienced this too. It would suck to be going through this alone.
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