Those of you that know me well will know that my age is rather a fluid thing, mercurial in that few are ever able to really pin down my exact birthyear … I have been skirting the subject for at least the past decade however now that my gorgeous baby boys are hirsute young men my age manipulation makes their births a criminal offence so I must come clean ….. Yes, I am about to become FortyTen! There, I have said it (again), the first time was when I started this blog last Summer and ‘fessed up that perhaps my Facebook profile was not entirely truthful (and I have NO IDEA how to change it *she lied unashamedly). My (younger) brothers at last breathed a huge sigh of relief at no longer having to bear the burden of being the elder siblings and all the responsibilities that come with that!
But what does it mean? To most, my ‘coming of age’ will mean nothing but I must confess I am approaching the date (6/6 – I only just missed that Omen moniker!!) with a little hesitancy. For a year I have been slathering on serums with youth-giving properties beneath super rich moisturisers and of course have resisted losing too much (any) weight for fear of my face caving in on itself – nope my body is still very much Melissa McCarthy (Bridesmaids) rather than Melissa Joan Hart (Serena Teenage Witch)! A new beauty and health regimen has been adopted and paying closer attention to the many Ageless Beauty blogging gurus, has replaced my former monthly magazine addiction. Tricks for concealing, contouring and correcting – these are my new “Three C’s” and can be attributed to not only anti-ageing skin unguents, my make up routine but also MY KNICKERS!
Mr H passed particular milestone birthday some considerable time ago and sadly there is not the distance between our dates of birth as I have purported in the past. I did for some time flag him up as J Howard Marshall to my Anna Nicole Smith but alas the gap is closing and my audience less amenable to the idea that there is a huge chasm between our respective ages. To add further humiliation, he is faring so much better in the ageing stakes than me. But there were some inherent changes to him and his demeanour as he turned his half century, namely climbing up onto his own, personalized and super-sized soapbox to rage at the world …. About everything! And what an assault on the senses that particular joy was as he dropped me to the station in the mornings, rahrahrah at 7.30am …..rahrahrah at 8pm collection time. This particular curmudgeonly affliction, according to many of my peers, seems to be endemic amongst most male demi-centenarians. On the plus side, those sexy salt and pepper flecks at his temples became altogether more distinguished, his leather Loakes and pristinely pressed, only-ever-double-cuffed shirts looked all the more fitting for a gentleman of a certain age and there is something quite comforting going to bed with a man whose failing eyesight will mean that when he wakes in the morning he sees you in that flattering soft focus, blurred around the edges imagery normally afforded to the Hollywood starlets of a bygone era.
So what does it mean to me, this becoming 50? Will I be heading straight to a Cryogenic regeneration chamber? Taking up the 50-day burpee challenge? Rushing for Botox? Preparing a path to my door for a weekly Gin Tanker, with an artic’ full of Schweppes slimline tonic to follow behind? Donning comfy shoes and having my hair cut short as a ‘Hello Middle Age’ gesture! No, not a chance! I have taken solace today in reading that 50 used to be thought of as the start to ‘old age’, fortunately not any more, that particular gem has been moved to 60-65 (phew!). Besides I don’t feel middle-aged on the inside, I still want to read about the Kardashians (shallow, I know!), know the latest fashion and beauty trends, be blonde not grey, dance wildly, drink too much on occasion (though my recovery is closer to a fortnight these days), wear skirts above the knee and outrageously high heels – but not at the same time! Embrace Instagram, Twitter and the like. And embrace totes amazeballs vocabulary too that will totally make your toes curl! Grow old disgracefully in fact!
Come on FortyTen – bite me! (if you don’t know what that means check out your Urban dictionary chicas!)