I thought. This day. Would never come. And well, it did. And I'm flaming mad about it. I've tried not to be, even tried gearing myself up for it, but now that it's here I just feel a whole lot of grouchy. Kind of like Eeyore even. It is my birthday--that birthday that everyone dreads because you instantly go from care free twenty something to thirty and well, thirty. Just plain thirty. Ew, what a dirty word.
Really, I don't know how to BE thirty. I've never even learned how to knit! I don't own a single doily, and nobody is complimenting my baking skills. Maybe that was Eeyore's problem, maybe he was just thirty and upset about it. I never saw Eeyore use a doily or even a coaster, and we all know he couldn't knit or he wouldn't have kept losing that darn tail of his!
The most frustrating thing about this is I'm turning thirty alone. My electric muffin doesn't turn the big *cough* three-oh until next month so I have to hear about how old I am for the next thirty two days. That's right, I'm a cougar. A lady in her thirties after that hot catch in his twenties. ACK! Being thirty means I can call myself a cougar!!! Noooooooooooooooooooooo!
Say it isn't so!
But it is.
I'm old.
I guess it's only fitting that thirty rhymes so easily with old wrinkly lady.
It doesn't?
Well it might as well.
There better be cake today.
If it makes you feel any better it won't be long before you are looking back thinking "if only I could be 30 again" as you gulp down your Metamucil, place your cane by your bed and carefully position your aching bones onto an orthopedic mattress. So see? Turning 30 can be good. Its all in your perspective ;-) Mom
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