Yesterday was my 40th birthday.  Yes, I’m forty.  Years old.  Double twenty. Two of me twenty years ago make one of me now.  Not in size.  I have not doubled in size.  I’m double the awesome, though, and I was pretty damned awesome back then, so.  You know.  Major awesome now.  Criminally awesome. 

I’ve got to admit that turning forty hasn’t been the easiest. I mean, alright, there’s the alternative - not turning forty.  There are only two ways to do that: death and lying. Death can go suck it and while I’m not averse to lying I’m not going to be that 29 and holding girl. That girl is so embarrassing because after a while people figure it out.  

Wasn’t she twenty nine last year?

And the year before that?

And fifteen years ago?

Hey, wait a minute….

I’ve been anxious about this birthday since the last one.  Actually, since I turned 37, if you want to know the truth.  Thirty seven sounded an awful lot like being all growed up and shit.  Ever since then I’ve been keenly aware of my fortieth looming in the distance like some elastic pants wearing, sensible short hair having, hockey mom button pinned to her purple satin bomber jacket suburban nightmare.

My 40th was, apparently, going to take place in the late 70s.  

I’ve tried to write about this for weeks.  I had the idea that I’d go through my emotions publicly and come to some sort of understanding with myself.  It’d be all cathartic and whatever and not only good for me but for the whole entire rest of the world.  Benefit of my experience, kind of thing. Except for the fact that every time I tried to write I came up not just blank but blank and confused. I could not, no matter how long I commanded myself to do so, come up with words to fit how I felt. Because it turns out I didn’t know I how I felt. I just felt. The what was as obscure as jude

Dan is an exceptional human being in most regards but when it comes to girls and their feelings he is like every other guy. He reacts as though faced with an impending attack by gizzly bear. He assumes the fetal position, covers his head with his hands and pretends to be dead. Eye contact with the grizzly bear is ill advised because as every man can tell you, eye contact only encourages the animal to keep talking which will amount to no good. The feelings must be avoided at all cost. Scary scary feelings.

I suppose that if I had been able to explain myself coherently and with an economy of not only words but, more importantly, expressive emotions, Dan would have been far happier to have a sit down on the subject of my birthday woes.  As it was, I had no clue.  I came at him not unlike an unexpected thunderstorm.  One minute it’s blue skies and the next you’re running for cover from a jaggedy black cloud.  But the cloud is following you and it knows your name.  It wants to know why you don’t love it, Dan.  Why don’t you love the jaggedy black cloud?  Is it because the cloud is so old now?  Old jaggedy black cloud? 

Emotions are not always fluffy bunnies, gentlemen. Sometimes they are jaggedy black cloud grizzly bears! Watch yourself!

It took us about three days to finally come together. What he lacks in initial response he more than makes up for in three-days-later pats on the back.  We had ourselves a good talk about a week ago and when I cried – because I did – he did not run and hide from either the grizzly bear or thunderstorm. He stuck around and got me through.  I managed to figure out how I was feeling and came to that understanding with myself. I’m not exactly comfortable with forty and all of its associated stereotypes but I am comfortable with me. I haven’t changed. I’m the same person I was Saturday – Sunday can’t change that. Yeah a decade of Saturdays and Sundays will but that’s slow change and I’ll deal with that as it comes. For now, I’m not 29 and holding and I won’t say I’m 40 and better than ever. I think I’ll avoid all of the stereotypical talk and maybe it’ll avoid me. I can’t say age doesn’t matter because I think it does. Just not always in a negative way, you know?

I had my cry and I know why I had it. I’m okay now but I don’t think I’ll be so apt to discuss my age anymore. That’s over. No matter how you chat it up I still don’t like the sound of it. Doesn’t suit me. Like yellow shirts and a-line pleated skirts. Just not my style, really. I’ll be forty but only because my Reality Altering Machine is broken. And if it wasn’t I’d be changing for more serious stuff like I’d make it so toilets never need cleaning and that money really did grow on trees. Forty would be a lot nicer if that stuff were true, am I right? I’m forty and my toilet cleans itself! Praise be to Jayzuz!

Until that happens check out what Dan got me for my birthday – priddy wunnerful.