It’s official, I am closer to forty than I am thirty. I won’t lie – I’m not entirely happy about this new number, but it is just that – a number. There comes a point in life when you stop counting the numbers so much, there are even times when I have to question my age as I’ve almost forgotten how old I actually am, though my husband is usually very quick to remind me.
Pick A Number – Any Number!
There’s no longer any hurry to reach a particular figure (other than a size 10 which would be nice), it’s just a steady stroll towards the next ‘big one’ which looms ahead like an unwanted appointment. I can legally do just about anything I fancy. There are no age limits in your thirties, only that of your body clock and the sudden awareness that middle-age has set in.
It seems your thirties seem to bring about a sudden intolerance for alcohol, either that or I obviously didn’t drink enough in my twenties to discover what a true hangover feels like. Either way, a night out these days results in at least a two-day hangover, which hardly seems worth the cost nor the effort that it took to acquire in the first place!
It’s not only alcohol that requires limiting in your thirties, but also your calorie intake as apparently your body suddenly seems incapable of breaking down fatty foods. Instead, it kindly piles the pounds around your midriff, calves, and face making it impossible to pull off wearing a bikini, should you have been brave enough in the first place.
It’s bad enough that your hair starts turning grey as you get older, worse still – hair suddenly seems to spring up from anywhere and everywhere! This certainly makes life warmer, especially so if you like me you should happen to suffer from random, middle of the night sweating episodes. Oh, the joys of waking soaked in your own, cold sweat… I’m telling you there’s so much to look forward to in life!
I am very aware that middle-age has arrived; the hen parties are all over, the wedding dress is neatly packed away, the prams and the pushchairs are long gone and most of our friends are in the same boat, thus there’s no requirement for partywear unless it’s black…
I guess there are some benefits to getting older: I no longer suffer from acne, I no longer require ID for alcohol (unless the cashier is having a laugh) and the car insurance is no longer a costly affair, as I’ve obviously reached an age where it’s highly unlikely that I’ll go ‘girl racing’ around town.
Happy Birthday To Me
So I’m thirty-something, I’m getting older and there’s naff all I can do about the matter. I’ve decided therefore to embrace my maturity like a fine wine… speaking of which, I should really celebrate this occasion and there’s a cold one waiting in the fridge with my name on it. Happy Birthday to me!