Getting older can bite me.
I’m about to turn 40 this year and I’m not looking forward to it.
I’m kind of pissed about it actually.
What do I hate most about getting old?
- I get ma’am’d a whole lot more. Really, is there anything worse than being called MA’AM in your 30s? I can only assume ma’aming me as a 40 year old will suck more. Instead, how about Miss (use this one forever) or Hey Beautiful (also with forever potential).
- Tube tops are not necessarily the best fashion option as the girls aren’t really tube top perky anymore. RIP TubeTops and perky boobs.
- The term COUGAR - Seriously, the only thing worse than being ma’am’d is even being considered in the COUGAR spectrum. I would like to keep my Kitty Cat status.
- The term MILF can also die a slow, fiery death thank you very much.
- I feel approximately 100 years old after a late night of being out and about (also referred to as non-cougaring). Am I the only one counting down the minutes to when I get to put my pjs on.
- I find myself constantly asking the husband what he thinks a certain pain/ache/spasm means – he’s like the less scary version of WebMD because he has no clue but spits out random answers anyway.
- Facial hair. SCREW YOU HORMONES.
- Everything involving hormones can repeatedly bite me.
- I find myself asking, “who is this band/singer/young people with bad hair trying to sing” more often, and I hate myself every time I do because that is textbook old people.
- You hear your hairdresser telling you to definitely go blonde because than the grey will just be less noticeable. I HAZ GREY HAIR???
- Wrinkles? Those are wrinkles? Did I maybe just sleep weird on my pillow??
- What the fresh hell is an age spot and how dare you insinuate I have one. I’m pretty sure that’s just chocolate, thank you!
- Filling in any survey that asks you to pick your age bracket and realizing your age bracket goes all the way up to age 54. Why do you hate me, survey people?
A sense of humour, good company (all of whom need to be older than me) and many glasses of bubbly may be my only chance of surviving the arrival of the big 4-0.
Getting old. It’s what’s for breakfast.