40 Something

By Terri Lively

So today is my birthday. My 41^st birthday. That means instead of simply being 40, I am now “in my 40s.” You can imagine my delight.

Even though I have joined the ranks of the 40-somethings, I tell my kids I’m 29.  They know I’m not being honest, but they still can’t do the math to figure it out.

It’s not vanity that makes me lie. Okay, maybe a little bit of vanity. But mostly I mislead them because one time I heard a little tiny girl around 3 years old tell a room full of people at my daughter’s dance class that her mom was 47. Her mom just smiled with that frozen smile we all do when our children have just mortified us but we pretend that we don’t mind.

In the wake of that age-outing and resultant tight-lipped smile, I decided right then and there that I would not share my actual age with my kids. There would be no unwelcome announcements in crowded waiting rooms in my future. This won’t last though. Their math skills keep getting better and better.

All the deception aside, being 40- Something has some perks.

Here are some of the best things about being 40-Something:

You are always able to identify the mysterious object or toy on Facebook.  These photos show up from time to time of a toy that is ancient or obsolete by today’s standards. You are supposed to “like it” if you know what it is. I love these (not really so much). Honestly, what other purpose do these posts serve except to make the viewer who knows what it is feel old?  And don’t say nostalgia. This is a word used by old people to describe old people things.  

You can count on a left-handed compliment to help you practice your graciousness. You know the ones, like: You look great for forty.  Here is a hint to compliment givers: the compliment “you look great” should never have a qualifier. Or another one of my favorites: I hope I look that good when I am your age. All I hear on this one is:  I am so much younger than you. In all fairness though, I said this to someone in my unfiltered past...

You remember when game controllers had one orange button and a stick. They were called Joysticks (!) and they absolutely wrecked your thumbs. By the way, I am completely flummoxed by today’s game controllers. There are simply too many buttons with letters and arrow keys. Apparently one orange button and a stick is all my hand-eye coordination can handle.

You hear your music on the oldies station. The first song I heard on the oldies station was “Every Breath You Take” by the Police. This wasn’t on the soft rock, Christmas Music in October station either. It was programmed on the “Mr. Sandman” station for your grandma.  Apparently one of my friends recently heard a song by U2 on the oldies station. Of course you can tell I’m 40-something if I even know what an oldies station is or also by the fact that I have listened to an actual radio station in the past 5 years.

You are overjoyed to wear a bathing suit in public. I love pools and swimming. But I don’t love wearing a bathing suit in public, especially around the young and the kidless.

You know how to Fax. This is a lost skill.  In fact, if you played the sound effect for a fax, I bet a lot of people under the age of 20 wouldn’t know what it was.

You have made a mix tape.  Not a playlist, and actual, no-kidding-record-it-on-magnetic-tape mix tape.  Those of us who have done it know that you have to hit pause before you hit stop so you don’t have obnoxious clicks in your tape’s playback.

Your life isn’t complicated by things like Foursquare and Instagram. Okay, this one might just be me. I do know some 40 Somethings that use these social media wonderments. For the record, I just Googled how to spell both of these.

You can ski. Not snowboard but ski on two skis down the mountain. You can do a snowplow, a stem Christie and might even know how to parallel. (Snowboarders are so lost right now.)

You remember when thongs meant shoes. Before the visible panty line became a fashion crime punishable by ridicule, thongs were sandals that only had a strap between your toes. I say flip-flops now, but it was a struggle to make the change. I think the clincher was when I told my boss I needed to go put on my thongs and he had an uncomfortable look on his face.  Eeew!

You recall when Botox was a poisoning not a treatment.  Seriously, I typed this because I can see my “angry elevens” in my computer screen. But as much as I love these little lines that announce my age to everyone I meet, there is no way I am going to inject poison in them.  I earned these wrinkles by years of neurotic worrying and I am going to wear them with poison-free pride and super huge amount of facial expression.

You can tell that a waiter or waitress really needs a tip. How?  When he or she cards you on date night.   My husband and I were recently carded when we ordered Sake at a sushi restaurant. Now I have to say, we did look good that night, but not that good. We could barely contain our mirth as we dug out our IDs.  I fought my impulse to point at my crow’s feet and he fought his impulse to point at his hairline. But regardless if it was feigned or sincere, it worked. We tipped well.

So you can see there are a lot of benefits of being in my 40s. Honestly, it isn’t so bad. My joke is always that every day above ground is a good day. And getting older is definitely better than the alternative. Would I drink the blood of a 20-something to steal her youth and power? Not yet. But I might ask her to be my body double at the next pool party I attend.