Hey guys, it’s my birthday!
And even though I love the celebrations and the presents and the friends and the champagne, I panic over every birthday I have.
I panic about getting old.
I don’t mean to and I really want to be one of those women who says getting old is fabulous and embrace age and all that blah blah boring stuff.
But seriously, I panic about my wrinkles and my NECK and mortality and how many more years do I have of love and sex and long walks in the park and energy and health, and all those things that we women worry about.
And each year I think, maybe this is the year I’m gonna botox and maybe a little nip and tuck and maybe an eye lift and dear sweet god have you seen those amazing things they can do with eyebrows and eyes these days, and and but..
I don’t really want any of those things.
What I do want is small. I want peace. Equality. A world free of racism and prejudice would be cool. I want doughnuts that are not fattening. Unlimited coffee. Unlimited supply of AA batteries. Flowers. Lingerie. Good conversation. The best champagne.
Lots and lots of good delicious over the top love.
And then, there’s still that thing of a man who butters toast all the way to the edges. A craggy wrinkly romantic delicious older man who uses pure good Irish unsalted butter.
I’ll take him too.
Happy birthday, me!