on being 40

it does not suck. it does not suck at all.

and it’s not just because i got fabulous presents – like this one

and this one

and yes – that’s the ring finger on my left hand… the other one is a mosaic portrait her highness herself. a fabulous creation by one of the most talented and wonderful person i know.

and the party! oh the party! it was wonderful – it was glorious – it was unforgettable. the celebrations lasted all w-e, i saw so many friends and family i hadn’t seen in so long, and then, just like that, it was over.

all that build-up and advance purchasing of massive amounts of champagne, all the preparations, planning, menu design and hotel room reserving, and in a blink of an eye the week-end ended and it was back to normal life, with one new decade to look into. and to all of you heading in that direction, trust me, it feels exactly like the preceding one.

turning 40 is a great excuse for a massive party and the perfect moment to assess your creaky knees and slowly sagging waist and say fuck it, i am 40 and i am alive; fuck it, i am 40 and i have a hot boyfriend who got me jewelry and sang me a song, my dog is still farting and i lovelovelove it all. fuck it i am 40, and it’s great to be 40 and think about what to get your mom for her 65th birthday. fuck it, it’s great to be 40 and video-chat with your hip dad about the diet he’s one this month; fuck it i am 40 and i can still fight with my sister like i’m 16. fuck it i am 40 and there still so much to do, so much to want, so much to look forward to.

and this afternoon, as i sat in my friend S’ backyard, sipping iced coffee and gossiping while the kidlets (they are visiting) played with hers and the sun warmed my legs and the chickens and cats and dog lolled about us, the thought floated in my mind that this may have nothing at all to do with being 40, but man does it feel right.

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