Confessions of 40-somethings

“But officer,” I pleaded, “I have to go to the bathroom. That’s the only reason I was speeding.” And so, the dilemma of my overactive bladder goes. As soon as I turned 40, my hobby became finding the nearest ladies room.


I find my other quadragenarians are also going through aging problems. Two quads I know who are desperately trying to fight the middle age weight gain that starts during your 40s, attempt to run. Their minds say they want to be in shape, they want to feel good. However, their bodies think that they would feel better propped up on the couch surrounded by pillows and a bottle of Advil within reach. One has a bad knee. He tapes it up and tries to run a couple of miles, he sometimes even makes it. However, the next day, he hobbles to the conference rooms he needs to get to for his meetings. Is that being in good shape?

Another one feels the only way she loses weight is by running. I must agree with her that you feel great after sweating it out on the road. However, she gets a consistent pain in her foot. She just waits for it to go away and then starts up again.


After you get past the idea of running, you move into the late 40s/early 50s crowd. Some of my lady friends waive fans made out of printer paper in front of their faces when you walk by their offices. This has to do with the hot flashes that zoom in on their space. I found it fascinating as I was sitting across from one of the lead attorneys during breakfast on a business trip that she consistently needed to fan herself while I sat comfortably enjoying hot coffee. I was glad I didn’t have her problem and that at 42 I must still be young.


However, things took a nasty turn for me when a cop showed up at my house and thought that I was a grandmother! And that my 13-year old and 10-year old kids are my grandkids. Is he kidding? I invest heavily in name brand moisturizers, make-up and hair color. It wound up he was at the wrong house but the damage had been done.


The other day, I was pacing out my garden to figure out exactly where the middle was in order to plant a tree. I counted foot steps—42. That was pretty cool since that’s my age. So, ½ of that is 21. That’s when it dawned on me; I’m twice the legal drinking age. No wonder my knees hurt.


For more stories, check out the rest of the site.