I will be 40 on March 10. I find myself surprisingly sensitive about this.
I dropped the Princess into school the other morning.
Me: Who is that little girl over there.
Her: That’s [insert ludicrous name here]
Me: Hello [ludicrous name].
Ludicrous name: Hello, are you her granny?
August 14th and ditto the above, (except for the granny bit because I don’t got anyone to drop off at school.)
My mother offered me a japanese fan saying I could “use it for the hot flashes, you’ll menopause too”. And I’m only 43! I wasn’t sensitive about becoming 40 though. I had a 4-day-long open house party to celebrate it (one day for each decade). Guests older than me partied along, welcoming me to the club. Hey, you’ll be one of us soon!
A number of years ago, when I was working off Dorset Street, I caught a bus from near the office and found that I hadn’t got the right change. I was jestingly grumbling to the busdriver that no-one has the time to call in to Dublin Bus’s head office to be reimbursed for these stupid change tickets that they issue. He said to me “Do you not have a son or daughter that could do that for you?” I was gobsmacked, considering that I was 32 at the time and considering the age a child would have to be before I would send them on such an errand. On mature reflection however it occurred to me that probably many of the women in their early thirties catching buses on Dorset Street were grannies.
So probably there is a difference in socio-economic whatsit between your family and little [ludicrous name]’s leading to different expectations of appropriate age of childbearing etc. The existence of a ludicrous name might support that theory too.
I’m 41 (aarrgh) and some days I reckon I look like my children’s great-granny! Cosmetic surgery anyone? I’m not sure the Japanese fans will be sufficient for me