This past Saturday while talking to my 7-year old niece , she referred to herself (for whatever reason) as "young monk". I don't know why; she's just an enigma smothered in silly sauce. Anyway, later on she referred to me as "old monk".
Nothing like a 7-year old to put everything in that really awesome "no really, you're ancient" perspective.
I turn 39 tomorrow, though luckily I'm not one of those women who feel the need to add "for the first time". I hope to never be so fearful of irrelevance that I start doing that.
I've been told that I look much younger than I should ('much' being relative, of course), but this just makes me embarrassed and a little suspicious. That still hasn't stopped me from buying all those schmancy creams and oils to fight wrinkles I don't have yet and bags under my eyes that I've had since grade school.
I don't remember ever trying to imagine what I would be like at thirty-nine. That seemed so far away, so impossibly remote that I must have assumed I would end up like all my teachers who were, of course, polyester-slacksters with a confounding lack of pop culture knowledge.
Well, my pants are pajamas and I'm nothing but pop culture references. So tomorrow is my birthday and I will answer truthfully when anyone asks my age, although I'm sure we will both leave the conversation disappointed.
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