Why I'm Not Scared of 47...

**Gentlemen, you may want to skip this one. I'm going to mention feminine plumbing products. Consider yourself forewarned.**

I know I ought to be scared of getting older. All those commercials for liposuction, spider vein removal, and botox tell me so. Still, I can't help but think that 47 might actually be fun. As I jogged to the bus stop with one arm under my boobs because I wasn't wearing a bra, I had to muse, "You've coma a long way, baby."

Bras
17-year-old Sally: Ew, gross. I can't go anywhere without a bra. What if someone saw my *whispers* nipples?
27-year-old Sally: You've got to be kidding me?! Where were all these push-up, cleavage enhancing bras when I was in college?
37-year-old Sally: If I leave the sweatshirt on and don't get out of the car at car pool, no one has to know I'm not wearing a bra.

Toilet Paper
17-year-old Sally: Mom! You can't be serious! No way can we buy the family-size toilet paper then go through the check-out line where the cute sack boy works!!
27-year-old Sally: Ooh, if I get the mega pack of toilet paper at Sam's, I can save a ton of money!
37-year-old Sally: Are we out of toilet paper again? I'm going to buy two of the mega packs next time.


Tampons
17-year-old Sally: You want me to put what where?
27-year-old Sally: How did I live without these things?
37-year-old Sally: Wait a minute. I can't remember if I put in a new tampon or not...


Homework
17-year-old Sally: I must do all of it and do it absolutely correctly--even the extra credit.
27-year-old Sally: I think I'd kinda like to go back to school.
37-year-old Sally: Why can't I do 4th grade math? Aw, screw it. A for effort.


Children
17-year-old Sally: Why do people have those things again?
27-year-old Sally: I love this baby boy, and he is perfect.
37-year-old Sally: Can I hold your baby? [Because I'm too declaring Mertau Law on having any more of my own but I love to help other mothers and coo at their babies]


Dancing
17-year-old Sally: I can't dance! What if someone sees me?!
27-year-old Sally: You know, the consumption of alcohol makes this dancing thing fun.
37-year-old Sally: I'll dance whenever I want to, however I want to. I'll dance around a damn pole if I want to.


So, yes, 37-year-old Sally has, for the most part, given up on cosmetics, fixing her hair, or even wearing a bra, but she's a lot more fun than 17-year-old Sally and she's savvier than 27-year-old Sally. It can only get better, right? Right?

A Missive to Mother Nature

Dear Mother Nature,

I know that I'm on the verge of being a "woman of a certain age," and in light of that fact we need to have a little chat.  I understand that I'm going to have an accordion fan of tiny wrinkles around my eyes, especially when squinting into the sunlight or laughing.  I understand that I have deep lines etched into my brow and battle scars criss-crossing my belly--my kids put them there, and I wouldn't change those.  I understand that sitting Indian style isn't my forte and that it's completely normal to have one stop at the top of my quad that's given up on the concept of flexibility.

But, Mother Nature, what is up with the acne?  Does it not seem cruel to you to sprinkle me with acne even as you line me with wrinkles?  Seriously, I did my time back in my teenage years.  I'd love to be able to say, "Well, at least I don't have to worry about zits any more."  Is that really too much to ask?

Sincerely,
Sally