(theme from Jaws)….
I abhor a cliché and find myself enmeshed in one; so enmeshed in fact that I cannot disentangle myself much like a wayward porpoise (nobody says porpoise) in bottom dragging fishing net. The more I struggle the more tangled I become so maybe I should just lie still, be very, very, very quiet and it will pass.
Maybe turning 40 isn’t like a large mechanical shark attacking you on Martha’s Vineyard. Maybe its more like you are walking through the forest picking berries, shaking the leaves off of your cape and suddenly a giant wolf is there ready to eat you unless you hand over the muffins. His large drooly mouth lingers over your pretty little neck, stinky breath making your eyes squint and water and then because you are old you pee yourself due to stress incontinence.
Maybe its like you are Dorothy and her three usually inanimate companions trotting-wait, skipping? down the yellow brick road being chased by a gaggle of winged monkeys chucking apples at you while an evil cackling green tinted witch keeps flattering you while threatening you at the same time, “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog too!” It’s hard to feel afraid while someone keeps telling you how pretty you are.
It’s all very confusing.
Maybe if I just sit down it will just pass quietly and I won’t even notice. I think I will start by never telling anyone how old I am because now that I am just almost 40 it doesn’t really matter anymore.
I will answer the question of how old are you? by telling them that I own my home, have two children that are 10 and 7 and have been married for 19 years. I am going to have to keep track of more as the children will age as well as the years of marriage will progress but that sounds better than telling anyone that I am 40.