There are times I’d like to throw around a curse or two on the blog, but I’m in a G-Rated-no-fly-the-curse-words-zone because my kids read it, so you’ll have to use your imagination and fill in the blanks accordingly. Kind of like Mad Libs of yore.
________ _________!
That’s right. Here we go again.
Yup. It’s my birthday. Good _________!
Can you feel the exhilaration oozing through my pores, seeping out of my fingers, and blanketing the keyboard as I type this?
What the ________happened? How did I get this old?
Yesterday, I was ten and riding my bike around the neighborhood contemplating deep thoughts like what would I dress my Barbies in and would my mother let me stay out late to play flashlight tag with my friends?
Why, just recently I cheered on Friday nights at Severna Park High School and went water-skiing on the Magothy River.
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Happy _________ Birthday to me. Blah, Blah, Blah.
I’m certain it was only months ago that my husband and I traveled, prior to having children, to Italy and England, as we experienced the culture and created lasting memories of our own.
I could swear my son was still a toddler, talking and smiling all day, wearing his diaper, while my daughter rolled around in my tummy, begging to come out into the world.
Like a flash!—a photograph snapped—these moments, captured and remain in my mind.
So, yeah, it’s my birthday. I’ve had a lot of them. Still counting. Higher and higher the number goes each year. I try not to let it bother me. Holy __________!
But it does.
I love when people say, “Oh, it’s just a number!” True, but it’s a big _______number. No-likey.
It’s time to be tough. Have some thick skin. Turn the other cheek to it. Take Bette Davis’s advice: Don’t be a wimp.
As she said, “Getting old ain’t for sissies.”
(I just sat up straighter in my chair and put on my John Wayne face; indulge me and try to imagine it).
Well, I ain’t no sissy.
Happy __________ Birthday to me. And many, ________ more.
Bette Davis Birthday Party. Photo credit: Fan Pop, originally from Time Magazine