I don't obsess about age. Except for when I turned 30 and had a breakdown -- but other than that I don't obsess about my age.
Seriously, I enjoy being in my forties. I'm smarter now than I was when I was in my twenties, I damn sure look better and I just feel good about me. However, sometimes I am very gently reminded that I am a middle-aged woman and I hate that.
Take last night for example. Thursday night is dance class. I signed up for the class in October because my younger sister (by three years) convinced me to. My beloved and I had a horrible falling out and my sister knew that I needed something to do to keep my mind occupied and to get the hell off the couch and out of the house. Even if it was for only one night a week. Don't get me wrong, I love the class. It really is fun and last year when I went to the recital and saw my daughter, two nieces and my sister on stage I was really jealous.
So now I'm part of the class. The class is for women/men who are my age -- or around my age. But there are a smattering of twenty-somethings in there too. I never really paid them any mind but last night a new girl joined the class. I can't tell how old she is but she's younger than me and she can dance her natural behind off. I hate to admit this because I am so ... what's the word ... conceited and full of myself, but I was intimidated by this chick. She is so good and I am so, well, NOT. I don't have two left feet -- I can dance. But this girl clearly has some natural ability that I was just not blessed with.
What is meant to be will be
