Today is my last day of being 36 years old. I suspect the only person more depressed than me by that fact, is my mother. Sorry Mum…we’re officially getting old. How did that happen so fast?
Ugh, I don’t know why, but I’m struggling with the number this year. 37. Such an ugly figure. Is it because it’s a prime number? I’m sitting here wondering when I’ll start feeling like a grown up? I’m sure that when I was 21, I was pretty convinced that by the age of 37, I’d understand politics, have my own accountant (and healthy savings account), and possess a decent, if not encyclopedic,knowledge of financial and current affairs. In reality, I find myself still checking out the Daily Mail online to read up on the state of Gwyneth Paltrow’s marriage, completely failing to follow anything at all regarding immigration reform or healthcare crises, and instead spending my days trying to work out how on earth you get a pre-schooler to eat anything other than cheese and chocolate.
On days like these, when it’s pouring with rain, you’re feeling maudlin about greying hairs and crows feet, and to top it all off, you can’t even drown your sorrows in a bottle of Pinot, well, there’s nothing else for it.
Get the kids to start earning their keep! Henry “Coco” Pepper, chief jester, and clown extraordinaire. Always good for brightening up the darkest of dreary days. #100HappyDays.