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Musings On Turning 51
Haven’t changed a bit, have I?
Well, I am taller, and I dyed my hair. So, there’s that.
As I look out my patio door at the torrential rain after weeks and weeks of hot sunny weather, blasting cheesy 80s music from my youth, I find myself reflective and grateful.
I’m also a little pissed because I had outdoor plans for the day, oh and also “indoor plans” with hubby that “nature” decided weren’t happening. Seriously, close the fucking factory already, bitch!
I’m officially into my second half-century, closer to 100 than I am away from it. It’s a privilege many don’t get, including several of my school friends that left this Earth far too soon.
I don’t feel 51, whatever that means. I guess what I mean is I don’t feel like what I thought 51 was supposed to feel like when I was young. I don’t feel like what my mother was.
She wore housedresses all the time. For those of you that don’t know what they are, they’re awful. They’re a cross between a real dress and a housecoat. She sat around all day with a towel in her lap watching TV…
