I confess that when I first saw this picture prompt, I was elated. I was rushed with feelings from childhood birthday parties. I was fully prepared to spit out witty reminiscences of happy days of youth spent drawing with sidewalk chalk, balloon tosses, eating strawberry shortcake cupcakes, and visiting Disney World, but I digress. You see, my 36th birthday is next week.
I’ve heard often during the passing of another year, ‘it beats the alternative’, and indeed it does. However, this year is one year closer to leaving my mid-thirties. I’m not ready to leave them just yet, I’m not sure I’ve appreciated them well enough and I know I didn’t get to know them like I had hoped to. I thought we’d be better friends before we parted. I feel like we hardly know each other at all.
Oh, how I remember my 20s. We became close friends, there weren’t these broken years I’ve come to know in my 30s. My 20s were just my 20s, no early, mid, or late, just them and all their youthful glorious fun. Hell, it wasn’t until last year that I learned my 30s came with sections. I felt so ill prepared. I would have tried to hang onto the early ones a little longer and certainly would have mentally prepared for the mids.
All that’s left are the lates. At least I know now not to screw that up, too. Oh, I’ll be bitter for a minute, I’m a woman and that’s what we do – or that’s what I do any way. After the bitterness I’m going to get to know them, take them out on the town more often, compliment them and tell them they’re pretty. I might even try to give them some healthier options, slim them up a bit, maybe go on more walks. The lates and I are going to be besties. Plenty of movies, laughs, and slow dances, it’s what the lates are made for, I think. Though, I’m not really sure since I’ve yet to introduce myself, but I will and I hope they will be as grand as their predecessors.
All I know is I hope to slow down a bit and savor them like an old bottle of wine.