Whenever someone points out our flaws or inadequacies, we take offense, for though we believe ourselves imperfect, we don't want anyone rubbing it in. Just tonight, my best friend mentioned in a private message sent through Facebook, that she's turning forty very soon. And even though I'd always known that our days as thirty-something were numbered, the reminder still came as a mild surprise.
I'm not saying being old is a flaw. Nor am I saying that being forty is old. I guess the point of this rant, is that the truth, no matter how benign or amoral, hurts at times. Like when an innocent child makes a guileless remark about someone's weight (my nephew, in our recent trip to Guam, asked my dad "Lolo, how many pounds are you?" - a big improvement from "Lolo, are you pregnant?")
I still have a couple of months as a thirty-eight-year-old, and I will definitely imbibe my thirty-eight-year-oldness for as long as I can. Next year, though, I will turn forty. It is inevitable. But it doesn't scare me one bit. Yeah, the joints become a bit rusty with each passing year, and I store fat as if my body were anticipating a famine, but my face remains crease-free even without the help of age-defying creams.
I am still at that age where plastic surgery is not an option. And looking at my youthful mother, I don't think it ever will be one. Having a much younger husband doesn't hurt either. ;)