Well, another birthday has come and gone. Can't say I look forward to them but, as they say, beats the alternative. A friend was generous enough to invite me up to her lakehouse for a couple of days where we tooled around the lake on her pontoon boat, played tennis and drank wine. Not a bad combination on any day but even more enjoyable when used to drown out the fact that one is another year older. Maybe I should have skipped the tennis if I had not wanted to be reminded of that fact since all I could do was take one game off of her. I'd like to think it was because she's younger but I'm guessing fourteen months wouldn't qualify as a legitimate advantage. I still can't understand why she barely broke a sweat while I was looking for an inhaler after the first set but maybe the real advantage had something to do with the occasional Dunkin Donuts drive-thru visits one of us took this past year. Nah! She's just a natural athlete who exploits my inablity to catch up to a well-struck cross-court forehand.
The truth is, I don't even know how old I am any more. My sister, the little dear, caught my mistake on a previous blog. I was convinced I was turning fifty-six until she oh so sweetly reminded me that no, she was turning fifty-six this summer. Oh well, you can't blame a girl for trying. At least I'm not running to the plastic surgeon's office or injecting myself with cow urine or whatever the hell else they're doing these days to look younger. Sure, I'd be happy to get rid of those Howdy Doody lines and I also wouldn't mind losing five pounds but the donuts usually win. And who really cares? I think I'll just keep trying to do my (semi) best to eat healthy, get in a few hours of exercise here and there and take my chances. Life's too short to be anything but happy and figuring that out almost makes being fifty-seven something to celebrate.
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