One last day...

No lady should ever divulge her age. Yeah right. That's what ladies who look actually older than they really are do. Ladies who look younger don't give a damn. And this is my last day at 35. As from tomorrow I go right onto the wrong age of 30. It's so odd, it doesn't even feel like 30. One reason why I love little people is because they think that I'm so much younger than their mums, when I'm actually exactly their age. I used to think that 35+ females spelt sexy. Now I realise it's not very true. You can still be 35+, wear jersey shorts and a Snoopy T-shirt. There is goes, Snoopy is for little people not for 35+ ladies. And still I go ballistic on Hello Kitty, I think that Betty Boop is sexy, and that hair braided in silk ribbons is the in-way to wear your hair. But that is perhaps I see women as asexual. It's not the case when it comes to men. I think Superman is past it, Batman is only helpful for flying around when the traffic is too much to bear. And I think Sex and the City's Mr. Big is the perfect man ever created. I also realise that it won't be much time more I'm menopausal and that is so great, living without the monthly pains and not having to worry about contraception; having a wild party and never spend a couple of days holding your breath and staring at Clearblue sticks which always come up negative. But still, it's a tough couple of days. My hair still hasn't a white streak, the day it does I'll go shocking pink at the hairdresser's. Because although most people think that living a full life is the thing to do, I never want to be old. And the only way not to be old is for your alarm bell to go quickly. No, of course I am not waiting for death. But the older I get, the closer I get to that damn age of 43. If only I could skip that year altogether. That would be the toughest of birthdays. And although I sometimes grumble that I cannot do anything on my own, perhaps it's a blessing that I get to share my birthday. A worry shared is a worry halved. My twin takes care of that. Because, as usual, it will be our birthday and not mine. And that's another problem. We might share the same birthday but little else, our taste in men is as alike as chalk and cheese. And while I don't have to worry about another sneaky female replacing me, he does. Although he would never admit it. And as much squabbling our diverse tastes in men provide, I do not want to think of a birthday without him. Plenty will be going on tomorrow. But not today. Today I spend the last day of my life at 35. And come tomorrow, I'll divulge my age without a problem, because I don't look it! Yeah!