Pushing Fifty

Pushing Fifty

My birthday is coming up. It's six days away, to be exact, and I will be turning forty-eight.

Forty-eight is not a big deal. Whatever forty-eight is supposed to feel like, I don't think I feel it. I certainly don't consider myself "middle aged". (The mere act of typing those words just made me shudder.)

No, I am definitely not "old".

At least I didn't think so until I talked to my daughter on the phone last night. Angel was commenting on a picture of me that which was taken on formal night of our cruise last week. I'm quite sure she meant her statement as a compliment, but perhaps she could have chosen her words a little better.

She said, "Mom! You look gorgeous in that picture of you in the black party dress. I told Johnny that you sure don't look like a woman who's pushing FIFTY!"

I gulped and immediately informed her that "I AM NOT PUSHING FIFTY!"

That, of course, brought laughter from the other end of the phone line. (OK, so if I'm indeed "pushing fifty", whatever happened to respecting one's elders???)

That's when the conversation (and my ego) took a distinct downward turn.

Angel went on to explain that my being forty-eight somehow officially allows me to wear the banner of "pushing fifty".

Like it's some kind of honor or something.

I'll have none of that nonsense!

I'm sorry. I'm not quite ready to hang that noose around my neck just yet. I refuse to entertain any thought of "pushing fifty" until at least two years from this date, August 7, 2010! Six days before my fiftieth birthday. In the meantime I will remain as I am ... young, strong, and (almost) invincible.

I am WOMAN! Hear me roar! (Or in this case, hear me complain about my daughter thinking of me as "pushing fifty")

So today, it's back to looking forward to my birthday which is a mere six days away.

I will be forty-eight. Don't you forget it!