Some people when faced with the scary upcoming mature aged birthday will write a bucket list, get a makeover, date a younger model or go to the extreme and find themselves hurtling towards earth strapped to another human being praying that the parachute opens all in a vain attempt to avoid that big birthday badge that proclaims you to be “Over The Hill.”
Firstly, there’s no way anyone is ever talking me in to sky diving. Ever.
As to a bucket list, ever since the movie of the same name came out bucket lists have become an almost essential part of the newly mature psychosis.
The things I must do before I die fall in to two distinct categories.
The possible and the probably nots.
World travel for one sits at the moment on the fence.
The saying “you’ll never never know if you never never go” is a double edged sword. While I fully believe the sentiment I also know deep down that I’ll never never go if I can’t raise the dough.
There are of course the must see destinations - Paris, Italy, Africa.
But there are also other destinations I long for - Auschwitz, Egypt, Alaska.
Right now I couldn’t afford the flight to Bali that seems to be a prerequisite for all under 40 Australians.
Me? I don’t even have a passport. I’ve never even been in a plane.
Something else to add to a list in a bucket.
Dating the younger generation - a solid no thank you.
I don’t understand cougars, I don’t even agree with the description.
To me older women dating much younger men look plain ridiculous.
What is she trying to tell the world?
“Despite my age I can still get the good ones? I’ve still got it. I’m trying to hold on to my rapidly fading youth?”
Ok so I confess I happen to know an older woman dating a much younger man and this is where my latest opinion on the subject comes from.
The younger man is the same age as this woman’s daughter. Insert sick noise here.
I’ve never been interested in younger men, I doubt I ever will be. I guess I’m just too grown up to contemplate spending a night with a man who wears his pants well down below the underwear line. Some things should be left to the imagination and old Calvin Klein adverts.
The makeover, the one thing I am contemplating before the birthday looms.
Naturally with all makeover resolutions this one comes with a crappy diet/lose weight/fitness campaign as all such resolutions do.
The fact that I’m approaching 40 and summer I figure increased likelihood of heart problems plus a looming watersports commitment means this winter the fat really has to come off.
I was sitting in the emergency room of the local hospital about a week ago. Stupidly my foot had connected with a large lump of solid timber chair leg and straight away up came a lump the size of a tennis ball. Yet more damage to my already chronically damaged ligaments.
While I was there I counted how many times I’d been present at a hospital and waiting to see a doctor. As I’ve gotten older the numbers climbed higher.
When is it time to start treating yourself with love and respect?
When does that bullet proof jacket we all seem to wear in our teens and early twenties slip off never to be worn again?
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