I am getting old. My birthday is tomorrow. (Feel free to send gifts, I need all the pick-me-ups I can get.) I am fast approaching the big 40, so every birthday hurts more and more.
I try not to put too much stock into the actual number itself. “You are only as old as you feel”, ‘they’ say. Although, it is kind of like clothes sizes and the weight on the scale. I just think there is one magic number and that is what I want, even if that number is long gone.
In my family we don’t refer to them as “birthdays” when you become an adult. We call them “present days”. It takes the sting out of the day a little bit. It makes you focus on the fun parts of the day. Gifts. And cake. Chocolate cake!
For months I had planned on getting a new tattoo for my birthday, but I have had a hard time deciding on something that I absolutely love. So instead I picked out a set of golf clubs. I know, not even similar. Anyway, I love them. They are all shiny and new and just dying to get some grass stains on them.
I had never played golf before except putt-putt, but I have always pictured myself golfing as I got older. It seems like such a fun social sport. A couple months ago Mommy Rhetoric, myself and our hubbies went out together and had a great time. I have been dying to go again ever since.
So tomorrow on my big happy day I am hoping we get to head out again and tear up the fairways (literally for me). My hubby also said he is taking me out to dinner, which means no cooking! Maybe birthdays aren’t so bad after all. Maybe.