Now that I’ve had time (while driving home) to think about it, 41 is not as old as turning 40. Turning 40 was cruel. I remember when my Aunt and Uncle turned 40, about 25 years ago. I was a child, yet I have the memory of a steel seive. I always thought I would be a living like a school teacher by the time I was 40. I don’t know why, I never had any plans to be a school teacher. It was just the thing to be when I was 40, maybe for just that year.
Anyway, I was supposed to have a small, yet quaint and organized little house in some smallish town. It had a yard and a car in the driveway. It was a bit arty looking, but not too far gone. It was paid for, even though it wasn’t some gi-normous, extravagant mansion, it was comfortable and it was cosy.
So, turning 40 was a real disappointment. I still had (have) that whole baglady thing hanging over my head. Thanks Daddy!
Oddly enough, turning 41 today is just fine. I feel younger. I’m not 40 anymore! Hooray! I’m not ancient, not older than dirt and I’m not a square peg trying to be a teacher in that house I perfectly imagined when my Aunt and Uncle turned 40. I expected to have their lives, though neither of them were teachers either. Don’t even expect me to explain where that came from, likely it was the figure skaters who take over my brain at odd moments, they love Christmas music too.
Life is not based on logic. I’m 41, getting younger by the year! So there all you children born after the 60’s. Don’t feel bad, you’ll get to be 41 someday, if you’re really lucky and eat all your vegetables.