Heather Smith
So I just turned forty. It’s awesome. That bit o’ pudge around the middle? What about it? I’m forty - whadaya expect? It’s very freeing being forty. I think I’ll give myself a break from the Pilates.

I expect it only gets better from here on in … I can’t wait to smack a young hoodlum upside the head with my umbrella and get nothing more than a “Stupid old biddy” yelled in return. I’ll croak back as loud as my aged vocal cords will allow “Oh Yeah? Sing it loud – I’m an old bat and I’m proud.”

I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ll rock a plastic rain bonnet. Sensible shoes? Bring ‘em on. You can keep your silver haired sophisticated old lady from the Centrum Silver Vitamins commercials with her classy hairdo and pearls – I want a slight stoop and a cane, one made from a dense wood (all the better for whacking).

I can’t wait to be known as The Curtain Twitcher. I can’t wait to wear lipstick way outside the outline of my lips. I can’t wait to shock people with a curse word … or two.

These are my thoughts on aging. Don’t like them? Then get the hell off my lawn!
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