Yup, the years just fly on by.
Next week I celebrate my Birthday.
My smalls can't wait for their Birthdays. Like, they ask every other day through out the year -- starting the day after their respective celebrations. The proverbial "are we there yet?"
I, on the other hand, am happy to forget the day, but then it's the damn day that makes you remember.
Sweet gestures from friends and loved ones, 10% off cards from establishments I haven't been to in eons, and no matter how I try to will by mind to forget, my body remembers. Damn the thing!
My husband's Grandmother confided in me at the ripe old age of 95 -- and she was a tough old broad -- "You're screwed. I might be 95, but in my head I'm still 30... Maybe even 28. It's a Goddamn conspiracy!"
Soon after this, she passed on, the conspiracy over for her, at least in this life.
I keep remembering what she told me, and it does seem patently unfair. In my mind I, too, am infinitely younger than my digits demonstrate... Infinitely cooler. Infinitely hipper.
That is, until I encounter your average 17 year old. That's when the harsh reality really comes crashing down:
I'm so uncool.
I'm so old.
So what is one to do but embrace the march of time? But, I will allow myself to wear a new description: Counter Cool.
Perhaps then I can be so uncool, so retro, that I come around again to coolness...
It's a thought. Or a dream.
Happy Birthday to me.