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I will christen returning to my blog on my birthday. I am 35 (shut up, those of you who know I’m not; just go with it). I like that age. If I had to be stuck at an age, like on that TV series “Highlander” where the Immortals stayed the age at which they were killed, I’d say I’d like to be stuck at 35 (can you imagine being stuck as a teen? Almost a fate worse than death).
I am actually 54. I feel I must admit this since many of you know I have an adult son, and I don’t want anyone thinking I had him when I was like 12 or something. I’ve also considered saying that I’m 70, which would elicit comments on how amazingly good I looked. But then no one my age would want to hang out with me and I’d never get a date. So why am I such a 35-ish fan? I figure that your 20s are fun, and you’re probably as hot as you’ll ever look, but it’s still a time of figuring yourself out. Once you get into your 30s, at least for us women, you’ve gotten past all the drama of youth, you may be in a committed, mature relationship, and you likely have a real job in your career. Your 20s are for trying life on. Your 30s are for wearing it.
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