Then, as I got older and entered the workforce, it was usually the date of the old Christmas work do. I mean, it’s nice for your workplace to shout your birthday drinks, but it’s still just not quite the same.
And so here I find myself, just days away from another birthday. And this year it’s a biggie. It has a zero at the end of it. I’ve been doing my best to ignore this significant year, hoping it would go away.
But guess what - it hasn’t gone away. In fact, my body is telling me every day how old I am. Getting out of bed requires an inner kind of strength that I just don’t possess.
Bending over to tie my shoelaces almost results in slipping a disc and spraining a wrist. And it gets worse.
I cannot, for the life of me, remember where I put my phone each time I put it down, even though I put it down in exactly the same place.
That little brain connection has gone. I hope it comes back, but at least it’s getting me off my phone. All of this leads to the hand of cards I’ve been dealt, and the worst thing about getting old in the December heat, and it’s this… the royal flush.
I’ve got the royal flush in December: two birthdays, Christmas, New Years, and the queen of flushes, peri-menopause!
Hot flushes are a (insert a swear word of your choice here). Don’t they know I’ve got enough to sweat about in December without adding that little beauty to the mix?
On that cheery note, I’ll wish myself a happy hot birthday now so my co-host doesn’t forget again!
