Only a Number

To all my new readers, welcome to the Summer of Love here at SecondHand Tryptophan. Every year I have TWO MONTHS of rocking guest bloggers, four days a week through the end of August. Today is another favorite blogger of mine, Bubblewench. Enjoy. -Karl

I specifically asked for this day to be Karl’s Summer of Love Guest Poster.

You may ask why. Go ahead.. I’ll wait…

taps fingers.. ASK ALREADY, WILL YOU!

Good. Now I can tell you. Today is the last day I will be 38 in this lifetime. Tomorrow, I will be 39. (I’m still not as old as Karl though.)

Saturday while I was not at BlogHer, I was at one of my favorite all time restaurants, Cafe Espanol in NYC, I realized I had been eating there for over 20 years. When I mentioned it to the waiter, he laughed and said, “Were you born here?” I said “No!” He said “C’mon – you can’t be over 27!” I laughed and laughed and said “I’ll be 39 next week!” He looked at me and said “Miss, I’m the same age and I look it, you sure don’t!” (but he was freakin Spanish HOT!)

Then I had an amazing dinner and went home.

Yesterday, totally different story. I was called m’am three times. That never bothered me before, but yesterday it hit like a brick.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bothered by my number. I’m just bothered by those damn young whipper snappers that are so freakin young! M’am.. sheesh! I’m only 38!

39 is a waste, it really should just be skipped anyway and go right to 40, that’s my thought.

See, if I were 40, I wouldn’t feel so bad being called m’am. Cause I’d be 40.

I would be yelling “PULL YOUR FREAKIN PANTS UP!” to those idiot kids who wear their pants and belts under their ass. The punks that push my trash can over would be reported to police. The speeders that go down my block would be pelted with rocks. Cause that’s what 40 year olds do right? Take over, get pissy, and make a scene? Crotchety old fucks?

I’m ready to be a crotchety old fuck. I’ve been practicing. A lot. 39 will just put one more year of experience under my belt (around my waist thank you!) and get me all the more riled up over those whippersnapper punks, so that when I do turn 40, I’m gonna be way more dangerous then I am now.

I do know that being a crotchety old fuck doesn’t mean I can’t drink like a fish, flash my boobs at parties, and keep flirting with the king of flirt himself, the lovely Karl. He’s my idol. I hope I’m half as good as he is when I turn 42.. cause that’s when the REAL fun starts.. right?

Thanks for letting me spend my last day as 38 here and dream about 40 during your Summer of Love Karl!

Bubblewench