an embarassment of riches
It's official. I am 40.
And let me say, it sucks. I'm not going to sugar coat it. I'm not going to keep yelling that 40 is the new 30. Because I was quite happy about turning 30. I'd never want to be in my 20's ever again, and I was happy to leave them behind. Not so with my 30's. I'm not sure how I got here. Wasn't I just 33? 33 is a fab age. I have no sense of time passing that far between 33 and now. I mean, I don't have kids so I don't see anyone else getting older around me. Naturally, Erik and I just think we still look like we did 10 years ago.
But there's just no way around it. I am now in a protected age group. That's right, the ADEA (Age Discrimination Employment Act)protects employees 40 and older.
Granted, the law was passed in 1967, and I suppose that in 1967 forty was considered OLD.
Mind you, I'm not one of those insecure, scary women who will run out and Botox myself. But turning 40 really makes you think about where you are in your life and where you thought you'd be by now.
It's not my best case scenario. Thanks to reduced hours and another pay cut on top of that, I'm seriously overworked and underpaid. I'm pretty much making about what I was making 6 years ago for double or triple the responsibility.
My house is a hot mess straight out of the 70's. The previous owners' concept of upgrade amounted to carpeting the entire house dark purple. And painting the walls that color (in high gloss). And the kitchen tile. And even though I have painted over some of the walls, I still live in a blueberry. A hot mess blueberry. I make little pining noises when I see other people's hardwood floors and appliances from the 21st century. Or the bathrooms that actually fit more than 1 person. But we live in the land of Microsoft, so we can't afford our dream house. Or even our catnap house.
But a funny thing happens if you're lucky. When all that "OMG, I'm old and I'm a big failure!" nonsense kicks in, other people decide they want to celebrate your birthday.
I can't really describe it, so I decided to make it an illustrative post. I should say an illustrative post for the heart and not the eyes. Clearly, photography isn't my strong suit, but I thought that a photo log of my good fortune was in order.
There were flowers
Wine
Art
(I realize that not everyone is an art afficianado, so these are Dementors for those who have difficulty with interpretive Crayola.)
Pooh had a little too much fun with my shot glass necklace.
I did let him wear my pashmina until he got out of hand.
A metric ton of chocolate (and I left some of it at work, so it didn't all make it in the photo; trust me, it's a ton).
And one sexy beast. (Just one. In red.)
And that's just the beginning. Really, the only thing getting me out of bed on these grey, wet mornings this week is the thought that another birthday box might be arriving at the office! And despite the dysfunctional family gathering, this coming weekend should be fun.
So, being 40 sucks. The actual event of turning 40 is phat dope. Fo' shizzle.
(No, that doesn't make me sound even older, it just makes me sound whiter.)