My husband turned 50 yesterday. Normal people would consider it a big deal, even number and all. I’m not so sure.

It’s probably because I passed that particular marker 22 months ago. One day I could say 49. The next, 50. They’re just numbers. Why do we ascribe so much meaning to them?

Don’t look at me for an answer. Whoever came up with the age equals wisdom bit sold us all a bill of goods. The one constant of life seems to be that there’s always another hurdle you’re not quite ready to make.

I remember elementary school when the teachers, out of frustration with our bratiness no doubt, gave speeches about how hard junior high would be and how we couldn’t get away with the same shit. (They didn’t really say shit but likely would have been happier if they had.) Of course, the same thing happened in junior high only high school loomed as the threat. Then college. Then the real world. Whatever that is.

Now teachers have been replaced by fluffed news readers and self-important experts. Don’t get too comfortable in those peak earning years, retirement looms. You’re not going to get away with the same shit.

11 March 2014