I turned 34 on Friday.

I
turned 34 on Friday. My lovely birthday. I am quite concerned as I am next year
going to have to mark the next option in the age selection section of
information: 35-44. Yee-haw. You see, I want the magical birthdays of my youth.
I want to be princess for the day! The entire day! I want lots of presents, with
none of the cares of the costs. I don't want to have to figure out how to pay
Peter back cause we robbed him blind. My mother is a fabulous looking woman. I
recall R telling me he was relieved when he met her. His father told him long
ago to look at the mother as the daughter won't be too far behind. I realize how
sexist that is, but still, I do hope to look as good as she does at 54. As I was
spooning up some Haagen-Dazs, I also thought about the fact that I am now at the
age to be more "concerned" about such things as exercise and diet (translation:
heart disease and cancer). I mean, isn't this the time when I will start losing
muscle and gaining weight just because I am over 30? I really don't appreciate
this. I mean, why is it that when my mind gets better and better, my body gets
worse and worse? I am not fat. I am just, well, the "f" word. You know...good
grief, o.k. I'll say it: ffffff. Ahem. Let me try again: FFFFFFFF- flabby!
There! I said it. I want the body of my youth! I want to fearlessly eat anything
that has partially hydrogenated vegetable oil. The thing is, I am soooo lazy,
but if I worked out, or even just walked, I could have a fantastic body. I could
be physically fit. I could have lower cholesterol (I don't even know what it is,
but it can't be good- see Haagen-Dazs above). I could give those college honeys
a run for their money. Or, I could just be satisfied that I am taking proper
care of the body I have and increasing the likelihood that I will be around to
see my daughters become the women they long to be. I know that is a better
reason. But, as I have said in previous sessions, I am a confessed materialist.
A confessed recovering materialist, that is.