Bill turned 40 yesterday.
Some of the cards he received contain lovely and simple birthday greetings. From the Clements: “Wishing you a day filled with happy moments!” And from my parents, who number themselves among Bill’s biggest fans: “Another birthday, another year closer to perfection!”
But others carry the kinds of greetings that I think will come with increasing frequency as we move forward in life. “As you grow older, remember this valuable tip I learned from the back of a cereal box… Some settling may occur!” And from Bill’s mom: “Cheer up! Turning 40 does have some advantages… You don’t even have to try to be cool anymore.”
My sister Meghan, who makes the birthday cards she sends, painted a beautiful fish with watercolors. On the outside: “Happy Birthday!” On the inside: “Wow, is this the Big One?!?!”
Bill put the card down and picked up the phone. “No, this is not the big one,” he said to her. “I plan to have many other, far larger ones in the future.”
Forty isn’t so old, is it? Isn’t forty the new thirty? Or, even, the new twenty? Bill and I feel like we’re just getting started. I don’t see anyone who’s old around here, do you?
Last night, when we arrived at the Stith’s house for his party, a mannequin of a Grim Reaper met him at the door. “Happy 40th Birthday, Bill!” read the sign. And inside, on the woodstove, an urn and the tombstone pictured above.
We all thought this was Very Funny.
Of course, the Stith’s didn’t do this. Mark turned 40 last June; Michelle turns 40… soon. No, this grim and festive hilarity was created by our friend Rhett who is, like me, comfortably in his mid-thirties.
I’m 37. That still counts as mid-thirties, doesn’t it?
I’ll admit that I like being married to someone who is older than me. The almost-three-years’ difference is comforting: Bill goes ahead and tries out the age and shows me that it can be done with grace, wit and humor. He makes me feel like getting older is No Big Deal.
Of course, it helps that, with every birthday I have, he declares my Next age to be the ideal age for a woman. “Thirty-eight,” he said to me last October, “thirty-eight is when a woman really reaches her prime.”
For my part, I’ve always had a Thing for older men. Yes, I have. Brad Pitt? Yawn. Ashton Who? But Sting? Bring him on. Sean Connery? Now you’re talking.
I am Not Kidding.
Come to think of it, I think I’ve decided that youth and hair, as assets, are both Decidedly Overrated.
Yes, I’m watching Bill carefully, and he’s looking pretty good to me. I don’t think he’s reached his prime yet. He’s gaining on it, but he’s definitely still on the upswing.
Happy Birthday, Cool Mo.
