About 30 years ago, Gloria Steinem said “This is what 40 looks like. We’ve been lying so long, who would know?”
Not that I would remember this, I wasn’t born yet. I’m 29.
Just like on that insipid Oil of Olay commercial, where the model can pass for 29 because of the special skin product.
Ok, I am not 29. If I am asked nicely, I will admit that I am actually 24. Indeed, if one plays the office math game, I must have started at my job at 18 … and the previous — ahem — few/several years of work on my resume can be attributed to childhood genius or identity theft.
Or just good genes.
Or the simple fact that is this what 3-ahem looks like.
Today, I was talking to my great friend K. about getting older. I am not well adjusted in this area and she is. I want to learn her secret. I should not be afraid of the march to wrinkles and new hairs in strange places.
And in the spirit of my new self, I am starting the march to 40 … err, I mean the march to 30 countdown.
Only 1235 days to go.
I expect presents. You can expect weeping.