… because I’m getting another year deeper into my dirty thirties and I’m not enthused. May is my birthday month, and I love it for the green grass, leafy trees, blooming flowers and mild temperatures. However, I hate it for the fact that I will turn another year older.
I’ve had a problem with getting older for many years now. No matter how hard I have tried, I have been unable to stop the aging process. I think that getting older (or, should I say, becoming less young???) is a contentious subject for me as I have been single for a long time and with every passing year, gravity takes it’s toll and makes those 20-something girls look better and better to men my age.
Another factor that is making this birthday difficult is that this might be my Bridget birthday. What is the significance of that, you ask? I believe that I am turning the age that Bridget Jones was in the first revolutionary novel. This scares me a bit. I love Bridge, but my god – I think it’s going to take a lot of cigarettes and alcohol units to get through this one.
In order to combat the dreadful process of becoming less (and less, and less…) young, I do my best to exercise, eat well and get enough rest. Gravity, however, has taken a toll on my body and with each passing year, I lament as I notice changes to the landscape – imperfections, if you will - that don’t help my self esteem. Thankfully, I’ve found a fella who finds these imperfections to be perfectly imperfect. Still, I have my esteem issues (my esteem issues and I have had a long, long relationship). What are these irritating imperfections? Well, I am willing to share with you that:
* My ass is trying to make friends with my ankles
* My breasts are trying to move in with my armpits
* My skin is perfecting it’s impression of an orange peel
* My hair, in keeping with current fashion trends, has decided that grey is the new brown
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