“40 is fine when you look 29.”
Ill be turning the big 4 0 this week. This Sunday to be exact. June 5th. A Sunday my favorite day of the week.
But unlike a TV show, there will be no gathering of friends and family to celebrate me. No surprise cake and singing, no tears of joy at the overwhelming show of affection for me.
My own husband wont even remember. I’m sure, or maybe he will but he sure as hell wont do a thing to show me. He hasn’t in years, a lacking small gesture that cuts me deep every year. I mean really is a small cake so hard to get for your wife?
And friends, well I have none. Everyone, I’ve ever let into my life has used and abused this thing called friendship. And I have locked out all of them and vowed not to bring anyone new it to replace them. People just disappoint and hurt you and I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I don’t and wont allow it. Now, none of the people I do call “Friend” are so close they’d think to pop in with a cake. And the 2 people I do have that I call friends that might do this work hard all day on Sundays to support themselves, and their children and couldn’t even if they wanted to.
Family, well again none that would do a thing to celebrate me, betting my own mother doesn’t even remember its her first born child’s 40th birthday. No, she’ll probably roll out of bed at 1 pm and make sure see feeds her animals on Farmville though. My husbands family well they might remember but not liking or knowing me enough to know this 1 year Id rather not share my birthday with anyone else (my husband and mother in-laws b-days are days after mine and we always get jammed together) and definitely not in a hot way over crowded house where half the people there don’t even like me. No Id rather just stay home and fold laundry and dwell in my own self pity.
I don’t think its wrong to want this day, this one year to be just mine, to have my favorite cake, to be surprised and celebrated.
But hell like I said my life is not a tv show, No cards in the mail, no balloons or cake just like every other year. Other than the half hearted, Facebook happy birthdays from the hand full of people I’m actually friends with on Facebook, only remembering because Facebook reminded them. I don’t expect anything else.
It makes me sad. Not because no one remembered or because no one did anything but more because I wanted it.
In the end, its not important. I don’t really get over it but I do get past it. In the end 40 is just a number, its just another year I made it through.
In the end 40 is just fine, after all I really do only look 29.