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35....


The fact that one of my favorite people is having surgery this week and the big 35 being a few weeks away has me thinking about getting older and death here lately. I’m not obsessing about it or being morbid….just the average run of the mill kind of things. I’m seeing more gray hairs and a wrinkle or two. Things hurt a little longer than they used to. I have to hold my arms straight above my head if I want my boobs to be where they used to be. I could go on and on but I will spare all of you....
I look at my parents and think “Ok maybe they aren’t invincible superheroes!” This scares me a little…

35 is really freaking me out. I have set a few of my “must be done by this age or it’s not going to happen” deadlines for 35. 35…allow me to say it one more time…35. I am not vain, I do not mind the idea of getting older but sometimes when I’m sitting in that minivan and I’m wondering about one of the kids needing new shoes and how much is the utility bill going to run me this month and what in the world will I cook for dinner I truly understand those commercials where the women are screaming “Calgon take me away!” and long for my younger days.

I digress. Old age is inevitable. I guess the only thing I should concern myself with at this point is if I should be cremated or pick out a wig, because no mortician will be able to do anything with this hair.

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