So, yes, it’s true. I’m having a birthday today. As this is not one of the super fun ones like twenty one… or twenty five… I’m going low key with it. While it is not a “big” one, I have found it harder and harder to realize I’m a grown woman now. I don’t know that someone could call me a “girl” though I still sort of feel like one. I suppose it’s time to get this show on the road.
Even though I still get carded (er.. an unusually awkward moment at Soho House last week), I am well aware that I am no longer the new girl in town. Girls like Emma Roberts, Selena Gomez, Ashley Benson, and Victoria Justice are well on their way to becoming the screen queens in Hollywood. Wasn’t Hannah Montana in diapers like… last week? Didn’t I babysit her? While out one afternoon, we overheard a young lady attempting to purchase beer and the clerk checked her ID which said she was born in 1990 making her twenty one. PEOPLE BORN IN 1990 are TWENTY ONE!!! How crazy is that?
It is so weird to realize that pretty soon I will have to adhere to dressing “age appropriate” and behaving like a lady rather than a child. (Guess that means no more dancing on tables at Cipriani- see how that dates me?). It’s also bizarre when you start to notice that you actually are aging. Like WTF is that wrinkle? Wasn’t there yesterday. Oh, and this extra dimple on my derriere? Welcome. Make yourself at home.
My dad (wise man that he is) once quoted someone as saying, “Being beautiful is like having an ATM account that you can only make withdrawals from.” Well, then. I guess he has got a point. Yes, you can get Botox and plastic surgery and whatever else, but it will never be the same as the glow of true youth. I asked my mom (who was and still is a very beautiful woman) if it was difficult getting older and aging gracefully. She said it absolutely is, but you start to treasure other aspects about yourself. Instead of relying so heavily on appearance you emphasize your wit and intelligence. I think if/when I ever have a little girl, I’m going to stress to her that she is smart and kind rather than cute or pretty. Might as well give her a head start.
I guess my point is to appreciate what you’ve been given. Heaven knows I wish I had appreciated my insane metabolism and 18-23 year old bod that I didn’t even have to work for. Brooklyn Decker, who? So, with that said… I’m going to go ahead and enjoy the rest of this special day by putting on a short skirt, sipping on a bellini, and maybe- just maybe dancing on a table. Hell, I’m older, not dead!
P dot S- happy birthday to everyone else who shares today with me!