The Big 4-0 is Coming To Town

I admit it. I could be the fourth witch in MacBeth. I could fill in for one of the Furies. I could give Nemesis a run for her money. I could probably even make Charles Manson cry. All of this because I hit the big 4-0 next weekend.

I hate to even admit it, because it is admitting that I have been indoctrinated by Hollywood and advertisers to realize that my life is now a horrible downward spiral to Depends, Metamucil, Detrol, Fixodent, and calling Hubby’s doctor to get him some Cialis so we can lounge in separate bathtubs overlooking the Grand Canyon holding hands. (Observational aside… am I the only one who has noticed that there are no water connections for the tubs? So, if your man doesn’t die from a heart attack carrying enough water to fill two tubs, he will probably be too tired.)

What’s worse is having that distinctly Madame Defarge feeling when I pick up my needles. So far my list includes, Microsoft, Baywatch, Cheerleaders, Creators of the joy stick for the PS2, HBO for not having continual episodes of Trublood, USA and SciFi Networks (they know why), the inventor of Botox, and plastic surgery.

I probably wouldn’t be so crazy except I go to university twice a week. Each time I go, I want to just stand up and yell “Thank the lord for Darwinian evolution and can we please stop making rules that keep it from working.” Thus I would be spared the 10 minute legal opinion of one student as to what constitutes proper eye protection in chemistry lab because said student does not want to look like a dork. I had forgotten that the cool kids don’t like it when the nerds point out that wearing protective eye goggles only makes you look like a dork temporarily while a chemistry experiment gone wrong can make you look like a dork permanently.

She should just be thankful that I did not say the following: Newsflash sweetie…Dorks rule the world. We invented the iPod, computers, digital televisions, cell phones and gaming. We even invented birth control, although that experiment has not worked out so well. Turns out the people who need to use it the most seem the least capable of figuring out how it works and their fertility rates seem to indicate they do not necessitate actual coitus to procreate.

These and other similar thoughts have plagued me as I have entered that time of life when you are officially an adult and anyone under the age of 30 pisses you off.

I have also entered that time of life when you begin to see fairy tales in a completely different light. No wonder Mr. McGregor hated Peter Rabbit. He was tired of the little bastard running through his garden, pooping between the rows, messing up his plants and eating his vegetables. That Witch from Hansel and Gretel was fed up with people just letting their kids run wild in the woods, eating her house. How were they ever going to learn you just don’t go to some stranger’s house and start eating it, even if it is made from gingerbread and candy?

So as I enter my 40th year, it seems that I will probably be that lady all the kids are afraid of. Were I 39, it would probably bother me. Now that I am turning 40, I say they probably won’t fear me enough. Now let me get my long cigarette holder and my Cruella DeVille Dalmation fur coat and go terrorize some toddlers.