It's my party and I'll cry if I want to...

Yep, so I'm another year older and another year uglier. I have now fallen even deeper into my dirty thirties and, gawd help me, I'm only one year away from technically being in my dreaded mid-thirties. I feel sick.

I recently came across my great aunt's old passport. Her marital status was listed as 'spinster.' She was 5 years younger than I am now. Once more, I feel sick.

I still cannot shake the fact that I am, for all intents and purposes, Bridget Jones. Now, I love Bridge. We all do. However, as hapless and lovable as the character is, I don't actually want to be the character. What am I even talking about - by the end of the second book, wasn't she engaged to the lovely Mr. Darcy???!!! Great. I'm a step or two behind Bridget Jones. I know I shouldn't feel this way, that I should just embrace my sexy spinster status, but it's still a bit of a private nightmare for me. And my mother. It also doesn't help that, when I tell people my age, they have one of the following reactions:

* the stunned, open-mouthed, slack-jawed look
* the shocked gasp
* the offering of sympathy ~ "Oh, I understand. It took me a long time to get my life together, too..."
* the look of pity and fear (my personal fave and the most common)
* the "oh, but you look so young" offering. yeah, whatever - tell that to the skin on my ass!