Happy to say I’ve made it to 38 with only two gray hairs. I’ve decided to call them Henry and Coco (or maybe Henry and Christian). Not that I mind getting older…not really. I consider myself something of a late bloomer and, thankfully, seem to be aging pretty well. Despite some well-earned wrinkles, quite a few people have told me I’m looking better in my thirties than I did in my twenties (chalk that up to the clean living that has characterized the past few years). But I still have a case of the birthday blahs. The past few have been decidedly lackluster. I don’t really feel like another year in my late thirties justifies a real party, especially during a recession. Christian doesn’t really cook, so gourmet meals are not usually in the mix (although he did make eggs this morning). He’s not generally the best gift giver, and I am certainly not the best gift getter. I often have very specific ideas about what I want and get irritated when whatever it is I have in mind doesn’t materialize (whether or not this has been communicated to my spouse). This year, I’m dreaming of a state of the art composter, but as that is cost prohibitive at present, I’ll be satisfied with a pair of $15 garden shoes.
Nothing Christian could do (or fail to do), however, could ever rival my worst birthday ever--my 30th. I’ll refrain from going into great detail, but it involved a lethargic boyfriend at a dumpy cabin in the Adirondacks in the dying days of our relationship. The weather was miserable and there was a mean old junkyard dog down the lane that prevented me from enjoying even the shortest therapeutic walk (in the snow). Not long after that, I met someone else and embarked on one of those high-drama, short-term romances. He turned out to be a total cad. Oh and married. I found this out from a third party months after I took up with him (denial much?). Anyhow, it was all for the best as it paved the way for my current state of bliss…I met the ever lovin’ later that year after having washed those two New Yorkers right out of my hair, and the rest is history.
My main objective on my 38th was to do as little cooking/dishwashing as possible, so carry-out figured prominently. My old friend Kathy drove over from Baltimore to hang out for the morning. We were able to get out of the house without the kids for a few hours and went to…Tractor Supply. It was Kathy’s first visit and she was thrilled. Picked up a bunch of John Deere apparel for her hillbilly hipster friends in Charm City. We brought home a pizza for lunch, after which we decorated cupcakes with Hank. (I got the Magnolia bakery buttercream frosting recipe off the internet, but it just doesn’t taste the same). Christian brought home Thai and Champagne (perfect)and that was pretty much it. I have plans for an evening out with a friend tomorrow (yoga happy hour) and I’ll cap off the festivities with a bikini wax on Saturday morning—fun no? I’ve already decided Christian’s taking me to Paris for my 40th. They love mature women over there.
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