There is a difference between being 40 and being 41. Do you know what it is?
“Ooh! Pick me!”
“Okay, you in the corner.”
Last year, I wrote a post about turning forty (Over the Hill or 40 is the new 20). Although I complained
a lot a bit in that post, I got used to being 40 pretty quickly. Much faster than I thought I would. It was fun to tell people I was forty.
And an ego boost to boot.
“You’re forty?! You don’t look forty.” They’d say “forty” like it was something they’d stepped in and wanted to wipe off their shoe. Apparently, 40 is not the new 20. But I took those as compliments anyway.
Now, though, I have to say that I’m forty-one. People have lost that I-smell-something-bad look but it’s been replaced with pity. Pity. Holy crap, really? Once you have to add a number (any number) after “forty”, it’s officially a pitiful thing.
You can’t say “I’m forty” you are now saying “I’m in my forties.” BIG difference.
My Sunday thoughts in 200 words or less.