The other day my mom turned 40. Family and other loved ones lovingly crucified her. Over-the-hill decorations were everywhere, everyone wore black. It felt like a funeral, and according to the headstone in my mom’s birthday cake: Here lies your youth.
That was just the other day.
Except the other day (for real) I turned 40. I was fine with it.
“Wow, you’re 40?” someone asked me. “You don’t even look 40.”
“Just say it,” I responded. “I look old. I’m fine with it.”
Someone else said I looke...