Middle Age Are You Kidding Me?
Yesterday my husband and I were in the car together when I said something, I don’t even remember what, but I do remember his response…
“Well, what do you expect,” he said. “You’re not a spring chicken anymore. You’re a middle age woman.”
Obviously, he’s incredibly lucky that I was the one driving and both of my hands were firmly planted on the steering wheel.
“I’m WHAT? Did you just call me middle age? I can’t believe you just called me middle age. I’m not even 40 for god’s sake.”
He just did one of those man grin things and changed the subject. But I’m a woman. Regardless of my age, I don’t let these things go. It bothered me all damn day. Middle age? It’s not possible. I brought the subject up again later in the afternoon. I brought it back up at dinner. I brought it back up as we were getting ready for bed. I nagged him into conceding that even if my life expectancy is somewhere in my late 70s, 36 is still NOT middle age. YES, I nagged him into promising I still look young and that middle age is many, many years away.
But my husband wasn’t the only one throwing blows at my aging ego yesterday. To make things worse, I was perusing Twenty Four at Heart’s blog roll, which she has categorized into nice little bunches of links. There’s a category titled Heavy Hitters and one titled More Favorites. It’s really very civil. Want to know where she put me? She put me in the section titled Midlife Writers. What the hell Twenty Four? Have you been conspiring with my husband? I’d like to send a big fat announcement out…I’M NOT EVEN 40 YET!!! And haven’t you all heard that 40 is the new 30, which means I’ve got a long, long, long time before I hit midlife, right?! Right? RIGHT!
I thought I didn’t have to claim the title of a middle age woman until I hit 50. Have I been living in a fantasy land? Has middle age creped up on me and I didn’t realize it until my husband and another blogger hit me over the head. This is not good people, not good at all.
I’ve decided to take drastic measures. As soon as the salon opens today, I’m calling my favorite stylist to make an appointment for a color consultation. If I ever had any questions about whether or not I’d age gracefully, I am no longer wondering. I’m going to kick and scream the whole way. Botox anyone? Who knows a good plastic surgeon?