Right. So, this year, as the anniversary of the day my mom had to put down her cocktail, cig and get a nice shot of “doc-put my ass out while you go in and take this darn baby” rolls around, guess what?
I am old. Do you know how I know? No, it’s not because I am not officially closer to 40 than 30 (Curse you rounding!). I know that I am old because I am acting like my mother who was REALLY old.
I mean, I know everyone thinks their mom was really old when they were young, but seriously, mine was. She was 43 when I was born, so by the time I started really noticing her as a person, she was well into her fifties.
I. Am. Not. In. My. Fifties. (Dammit.)
- I often hum random tunes while I literALLy putter around my house dropping stuff and leaving a trail of crap in my wake.
- I have actually heard myself say, “when I was young he was quite handsome”. AND(!!!) “Fine, do whatever you want, but you’ll freeze without that hat on.”
And the kicker? THE KICKER!??!?!
- The last two days I have, on more than one occasion, done this “FaDaGrif-what is your name?” When talking to or about my kids.
How often did my mother “MarcSuzJulMar…oh which one are you?”
I’ll tell ya-she did it all the time. And she had six, not three. Oh… AND SHE WAS OLD!
Happy Un Birthday to me.
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