Le Mauvais Lundi

Yes, dear friends, it is almost upon us. On Monday, I turn 30. 

The horror! The shock! The disbelief! (At least mine, anyway.) Una has surprised me with the best birthday present ever - a weekend getaway to a secret location! (CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia? Post-Olympics Vancouver? Tijuana, Mexico?!) I won't know where we are going until we arrive at the airport at 5:00 PM today. Which has made it quite difficult to pack and could explain the 6 pairs of shoes that are traveling with me for a 2.5 day trip.

In light of this impending milestone, I have compiled fifteen reasons why I might possibly sleep through Monday altogether, and fifteen more that may tempt me to wake up at lunchtime and greet the day with lipstick and a glass of Chardonnay. Here we go!

Fifteen reasons I am henceforth considering March 22^nd a terrorist holiday*:

1. Midsection is beginning to lose elasticity, similar to a pair of old tights. I throw out old tights.
2. Forehead resembles a piece of lined notebook paper, which appears to worsen when makeup is applied. *P.S. No one likes notebook paper. It reminds people of elementary school and learning cursive and a certain second grade teacher who yelled at them for not understanding “borrowing” in math. *P.P.S. Numbers don’t give you permission!
3. No master's degree to throw around at cocktail parties in a fake English accent; no underlings to answer my emails for me and get hot - I said scalding! - coffee with skim milk foam and 1/2 packet of raw sugar; no reaping the "health benefits to having a child before 30." Hmm, what about the health benefits to not having a child by 30? Why hasn’t that article been written? New to-do item.

5. I was supposed to be skinnier, not 5 pounds heavier. Offensive. Really.
6. Envisioned myself greeting this unwanted milestone with an obscenely expensive pair of Chanels on my pedicured feet and ropy, muscular arms a la Kyra Sedgwick. (Perhaps scientists should study her DNA? She seems to be de-aging.) Mud-covered Adidas circa 2005 and 2 x 4 biceps not acceptable alternatives.
7. Anyone under the age of 25 thinks I am old.
8. Newsflash: Do not have any friends under the age of 25 who are not related to me.
9. Old people sicknesses are one bad doctor’s appointment away: saddlebags, precancerous skin lesions, boils, hemorrhoids, light bladder leakage, replacement hip surgery, reading glasses.
10. I can no longer attempt to pass for 25. Even verbally. Especially verbally. What the hell does “TOCOX” mean anyway? Is that sexting? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.
11. My husband can now say – my wife is 30. And he is not.
12. Shopping at HSN will henceforth be referred to as a pre-30 ‘adventure’ (“Remember when I did that? I was hilarious!”). Committed to habit, it is a slippery slope right down to owning a shag-covered pet ramp in the master bedroom and Joan Rivers costume jewelry. 
13. Driving a Camry is horribly uncool. And parentlike. And sensible. Especially as our particular model was made in a year when most of the under-30s were just reaching double-digits.
14. The word sensible will suddenly apply to virtually anything I do that is not idiotic.
15. The next major stop on the birthday express is 40. Holy Christ, where is the minivan?
16. Minivans are for those little people known as children. Holy Christ, pass me the Ortho and a powerful box o’ Franzia!

Fifteen reasons I shall embrace Monday, March 22^nd as a “positive,” growing (metaphorically, of course) experience:

1. 30 is closer to 20 than 50! To be repeated ad nauseaum.
2. Not giving a rat’s ass what people think. And not caring that I don’t give a rat’s ass. Future teenage children mortified.
3. School amazingly sounds appealing. Though 7 years may not be enough time to ask former professors for a recommendation. That attendance policy was a real PITA.
4. Imagining the size of my rear end if I skip a work out is enough to terrify me into my 2005 Adidas with a frozen smile on my face and a spring in my step.
5. I have about five more years before it gets embarrassing to say that “I’m still figuring out what I want to do.” After that it’s just creepy and lame, a la our neighbor Uncle Benny, who plays in a garage band and works at Shoprite because “he’s an artist.”
6. SAT scores are irrelevant now! Only a fool would ask to see them.
7. People actually ask for your advice. And sometimes it ends up being right. Who knew?
8. No more roommates. Unless they are the smaller/easily-manipulated variety that call me Mom and do the dishes for chore money.
9. Not going out is normal.
10. Early bedtimes are normal and a must to retain younger-looking skin, per Vogue, the chic, mature woman’s bible.
11. Obviously, as one gets older, taste is refined. Clearly my purchases will be more expensive, as I have outgrown anything made of polyester, rayon, gold-plating or Ikea.
12. Big birthdays warrant big, shiny presents. I think I will mention this to husband.
13. As one ages, one tires quite easily. Vacations are a natural and necessary antidote to the stress of adult life!
14. Safety in numbers. Dear, once-young friends are also suffering similar fates. I comfort myself by imagining them with more wrinkles than me.
15. I am pretty pumped about spending all my years post-30 married to Una. Especially after May 8, 2011. Which is when he turns 30. I shall graciously welcome him into a new decade with sage advice and an expensive spa vacation!

*Yup, it's out of order. Blame the Franzia. Bon weekend!