Happy Birt … Oh Skip It

I turned 45 recently, which is so old it’s almost dead. Though, I probably shouldn’t joke about that, lest the universe decide to fulfill the prophecy in some slow, painful, pustulant way culminating in an afternoon in the near future when a group of people standing around a freshly dug grave will speak in hushed tones.

“How old was she?”
“She just turned dead. Dead years old.”
“What a shame. It seems like only yesterday she was 45.”
“It was yesterday.”
“Oh. Well, no wonder then.”

BUT DON’T WORRY ABOUT ME. I AM DEALING WITH THIS JUST FINE. Also, do you have any Geritol? The liquid kind, so I can mix it with my creamed corn and applesauce. If you do, please bring it soon; I want to eat dinner at 4:30 and then cry myself to sleep by 7:00.

Actually, I can’t decide if turning 45 bothers me or not. It’s a matter of context, I believe. My perceived youth/decrepitude depends entirely on what I’m doing at the time. If I were wearing Daisy Duke cutoffs, people would say I was too old. They might also laugh or possibly throw up. On the other hand, were I to run for President of the United States, people would say I was too young. Some of the more perceptive of those folks would also say that I am too stupid, but to that I would offer the following rebuttal:

Now that I think about it, I don’t want to do either of those things. Therefore, existential crisis averted!

But just in case I had any lingering doubt about my relevance as a human being and whether it survives into one’s fifth decade, I thought it would make me feel better to look up famous yet still unwithered people who, like me, were born in 1963. So I searched IMDb and came up with the following:

Helen Hunt. Well, crap. Have you seen Helen Hunt lately? She recently did a movie with Bette Midler, which I did not see primarily because it’s a Helen Hunt/Bette Midler movie; nonetheless, I did see the previews. In this movie, they play mother and daughter, but seeing the two of them together, you cannot say with any degree of certainty which of them is playing the mother and which is playing the daughter. And for reference purposes? Bette Midler is 62 years old.

Brad Pitt. Um. No. The man went from looking 18 to looking 57. Plus, why is he so dirty all the time? I swear, you look at his photo and can smell the B.O.

Lisa Rinna. Sigh. Are you kidding me with this, IMDb? If she ever lets her lips deflate, the bottom half of her face will fall down her blouse. Next please.

Whitney Houston. Yeah. Like I want to look like Whitney. I don’t think she even has teeth anymore.

Brigitte Nielsen. ALL RIGHT FINE I DON’T WANT TO PLAY THIS GAME ANYMORE.

Next, I thought it might be helpful if I took that Real Age test to see how old I am based on my family history and health habits (as opposed to how old I am based on how old I am). After answering approximately one billion questions, the Real Age website informs me that they are doing some high-level calculations and will email my results to me in an hour or possibly two. I hope I live that long. In the meantime, I’ll just sit here quietly, listening to my Coolio* records and enjoying this bowl of creamed banana.

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* Born Artis Leon Ivey Jr., The First Day of August, Nineteen Hundred and Sixty-Three