This coming Saturday I turn the inevitable forty. FORTY! For those visiting from countries where English sucks, that’s cuarenta, vierzig, quarante, quaranta, quadraginta, and, in Scottish Gaelic, dà fhichead (which looks like dà dickhead if you read it really fast). I’m dà dickhead today! And that’s an accurate statement. On this very special (horrific) day, I’m playing the Mythbusters of the half-life birthdays and debunking all of those glitter and unicorn posts that say “Forty is the new twenty.” My ass. Forty is almost sixty, my friends, and here’s why:
- You can no longer make it onto elite lists like “Top Thirty Under Thirty” or “Thirty and Fabulous.” Twenty is sexy and fun. Thirty is suave and sophisticated. Forty is chopped liver and bran flakes. We get added to lists like “Looking Somewhat Good After Thirty-Nine” and “Forty and Forgotten.”
- You were once a MILF. Now you’re a MIWTWATFP. That’s Mother I Wouldn’t Touch With A Ten Foot Pole for those wondering.
- You can now play connect the dots with the liver spots…wait…AGING spots that are peppered all over your face. Here’s the good news: you have a way to kill time while waiting at the geriatric doctor for your annual check-up.
- False teeth are just a dentist visit away! Seriously. You become bitter and angry with age. With bitterness comes non-stop grinding of teeth. This leads to the inevitable oversized choppers.
- The changes happening to our bodies can be summed up in two words: sags and bags. Under-eye bags. Saddlebags. Sagging boobs. It’s all going south now.
- When you see people staring and whispering, it’s no longer because they are in awe or envious of how you look. They’re quietly wondering, “WHAT’S THAT HANGING OFF HER CHIN?!” which, as we old ladies know, is called turkey neck who happens to be best pals with crow’s feet.
- Those whistles that you hear. They’re not booty calls anymore. As we age, our hearing and eyesight both go. Those whistles are good Samaritans warning us of impending dangers that we failed to see or hear. “WATCH OUT FOR THAT HOLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE SIDEWALK, GRANNY!”
- Your days of accidentally getting carded while buying alcohol are over. Your days of getting carded to see if you qualify for senior discounts are just beginning.
This…THIS is forty.