I had a birthday over the weekend. It was a good time, but I’m feeling conflicted about the whole ‘turning 36’ thing. Certain parts of the process are categorically offensive and should be outlawed as inhumane. For instance:
1. When your girlfriend points to you and says to the waiter, “We’re celebrating her 30th!” and he chuckles because he can tell she must be kidding.
2. When your mother gives you a tankini swimsuit for your birthday because, “You’re always complaining about your stretch marks! I thought you’d like to be more covered!”
3. When the cashier at Smashburger asks to see your ID after you order a beer, but as you’re having trouble extricating it from your new wallet he says, “Oh, it’s OK, you don’t need to pull it out. I’m just supposed to ask!”
4. When bitches in their mid-20s complain about how “old” they’re getting and it’s not legal to punch them in the face (you bitches know who you are).
5. When an acquaintance mentions her “kid in high school” and for a second you wonder if she’s super old or was a teenage mom… until you remember your kid starts high school in 3 months… and you weren’t a teenage mom.
6. When your husband begins to steadily ascend on the Comparative-Attractiveness Scale (because: Men + Age = Distinguished) while you spend most of your free time (and half your income) fighting tooth and nail just not to lose ground (because: Women + Age = An Entire Aisle in the Grocery Store Devoted to Pleasegodmakethisstop).
No one should have to deal with that shit.
But, there are things about 36 that possibly make up for the horror-show above. Like:
1. Realizing dark lipstick no longer makes you look like a teenage prostitute and you can totally pull it off.
2. Knowing you’re in the strongest physical condition you’ve ever been in your life because you finally have the time, determination and cash flow to make it happen.
3. Still being that bitch who complains about getting “old” to all your friends in their mid-40s.
4. Not giving any fucks about your stretch marks anymore and still wearing your smallest goddamn bikini because you worked hard for those ab muscles, even if they’re covered by a few battle scars.
5. Giving way fewer fucks in general about what anyone else thinks about you, your weird hobbies, habits or outfits.
6. Getting to have a Trophy Husband without even getting divorced and remarried.
7. Having kids you are proud of, who no longer require you to handle their feces on a regular basis and who occasionally even let you go to dinner without them.
So… I think at the very least, it’s a wash. But possibly things are tipping in the direction of 36 not being THE WORST. I’ll let you know in a year.