37 is not necessarily an age that makes me want to celebrate getting another year older. I guess I should think of today as being another year wiser, but really it’s just another year closer to not having a birthday. Ever. And I reckon if to celebrate encroaching death is my only other option, then perhaps I should celebrate my 37th year with style. Or by getting drunk on martinis and eating cheese like a pig.
So in honor of being another year closer to 40, I’ve been thinking of all the things that are better now than they were when I was younger. The list includes things like having a nice home, beautiful daughter, financial security, bigger boobs*, and a sexy husband I can go all the way with any time I want. You know, the things old people have.
Had I know about all these things when I was younger, those years would have been much more enjoyable because I would have been less prissy, wrestled a few bears, spent time in jail in Mexico, and greeted everyone by sucking face. Because I’m mesmerizing that way, it’s scientifically proven.