Wow, it is finally hitting home that this year I am turning 40.
I am hoping to finally master the slut drop like Cameron did for her 40th.
Apart from planning a party, I am in complete denial.
I remember when my mother turned 40 and I thought she was indecently old. I looked at her and her saddo old mates rocking out to some 70’s tunes and felt mortified…now that is going to be me.
And now suddenly I realise it is not actually that old.
What does turning 40 mean though?
Can I still wear a bikini? Can I finally stop being on an eternal diet? Am I allowed to go to nightclubs and pelvic thrust and show off what I think is my fantastic crumping? Indeed am I now too old for short skirts and flirting?
Maybe, maybe not. Time will tell. But I can hear myself saying what my mother always used to say – I still feel like I am 21. So this year, in my coming of age, I am going to keep you up to date on how it all pans out for me.
Maybe, just maybe, this will be the year.
The year of success, of the coming together of 40 years of adventure and work, of amazing friendships and when I look back and say it’s been good, but it’s going to get better.
The old adage life begins at 40 sounds exciting, and I think is because by the time you hit 40 you really don’t give a damn what anybody else thinks.
Now that has to a recipe for some kind of fun.