I am officially 28 years old.
My kid brought me breakfast in bed this morning. It consisted of two pieces of toast, several carrots, an apple, and a cup of milk. Those are literally the only things that were in the fridge to pick from.
We met up with his carpool, and my friend Steve, who is 50 and gorgeous, gave me baklava for a b-day present, and jokingly said he hated me because I’m still in my twenties.
Ah, 28. Four years away from my supposed “peak”. Is that libido rising thing for real? Shit. I can’t imagine getting any hornier.
On New Year’s Day, the good old pearl “massager” broke. Correction: I broke it. No, it’s not the batteries. I checked. It’s the wire. I don’t really need a massager, I’m double jointed in the fingers. I’m lucky like that. But still. Why January 1st? I wonder if it’s an omen for the year to, uh, come.
Anyway, birthday. I’m getting my hair did. And buying myself some flowers. And maybe a new massager. I love getting older.