Yesterday I turned 58 years old.
In a strange incident a few days ago at work, my imminent birthday was mentioned and the Young People at work said, “You mean your ‘27th’ birthday, right, Ellen?”
I was perplexed. Are people still doing that nonsense where you don’t acknowledge that you left your twenties? Plus, the joke is the eternal 29th birthday, not 27th.
Then, later, because they are Young People, they texted me “Happy 27th birthday” wishes.
I texted back, “I look really bad for 27.” Which is true. God forbid a person in their thirties look like her face has slipped its tethers and is floating on top of her bone structure, soon to be dragged inexorably down by the repetitive swing of her wattle.
Balancing the sprouts of grey and the frown line are skills I never dreamed of at 27.
2 responses to “Fifty-eight”
Huh. That is baffling, 27 instead of 29. (I did know someone, once, who said that her policy was to stop before 30 and go backwards to 25 or so, then go forwards (farther), then go backwards, etc. I thought this was intriguing – at least you’re not having the *same* birthday each year? – but yes, I’d rather be my age.)
On the plus side, I think 27 *is* after the impulse-control side of the brain is fully grown? So at least they didn’t chuck you all the way back to 20?
KC – I would hate to be 20 again, or 27 or 29. I don’t know that I had any coping strategies.