dear 40: shut.up

  40 is harsh. When you're 40 sometimes your back hurts. Sometimes your back hurts because you fall down stairs. You fell down those stairs wearing shoes made for 17 year olds. Sometimes you are a parent of a 17 year old. 40 is harsh because it's hard to lose that "baby weight" that you gained from that 17 year old. And then somebody is  like, "Oh are you pregnant?" No, angry bitter white girl, I am not...but I can tell you're pushing 40 because you have angry and bitter written on your forehead. Oh, and your shoes are out of your league. 40 is harsh because we as women understand our bodies now...finally...only to be told that we will lose them sometime in the next 10 years to something called men-a-pause.  This will be a turning point in our lives. This is  when we finally know we don't want to get remarried. 40 is harsh because we're not 20 and we're not dead. How awkward.  40 is harsh because we now realize that size "medium" is a nice way of saying "Please try again". 40 is harsh because our hair begins to turn an odd color of blond, and people, like those 17 years olds, get really rude about it. I am stunning in my new hair color. So stunning that I bought a new pair of silver heels to match it.
    So my advice to myself in the few short years I have left before I turn that magical number is: From here on add 7 years to your age...they will be in awe. (and quit buying mediums).