So I’m celebrating a milestone June 23, and I’m thinking that running a special of some sort would be fun. After all, one only turns fifty-freaking-five once, right?
Somehow I can’t quite assign myself that age. Not when I still feel like I’m in my twenties. Only people with lines and infirmities are fifty-five. Or so I thought. Yet here I sit with a bum hip (that is being given its walking papers end of May) and a few lines crossing my mug. When did this happen?
I remember when the movie 2001: A Space Oddessey came out, and I did the math to figure out how old I’d be in the year 2001. I freaked. I was twelve at the time the movie came out, so the idea that I’d be forty-five gave me a fit of the giggles. I’ll never be that old, I howled.
Age is a silly thing, and many let those numbers define who they are and how they’ll live their life. Until my hip went south on me, my kids couldn’t even keep up with me when I walked. That they have to wait for me to hobble up to them with this damnable cane is an insult to my sensibilities. Thankfully, this is a temporary condition.
So to celebrate becoming more seasoned – as in I sure wish I knew then what I know now – I’d like to run a month-long special of some sort. But what kind of special. Discount on our fabulous books? The beagle offered to discount her cover art purses, which is generous considering she left me with a mountain of filing.
So I’m giving this some thought because I want it to be fun. Any ideas on your part are most welcome.
Oh…great…the beagle just came in with black armbands. Cute, beags. Real effing cute.