If I had known that turning fifty would be so much fun, I would have done it years ago. Seriously, so far, fifty has been a never-ending celebration of one kind or another. I have attended more birthday celebrations this year for myself and for friends than any other year, and the party continued over the weekend.
Although I reached the fifty milestone in August, I was treated to a belated birthday dinner by my dear friend, Heather. We ventured to a new local eatery and enjoyed delicious food and cocktails, not to mention each other’s company. The service was excellent, and unbeknownst to her, the waitress served up the topic for this blog.
As the waitress finished taking our order for appetizers and drinks, Heather mentioned that we were there celebrating my fiftieth birthday. The waitress appeared a bit taken aback by this statement and said to me, You’re fifty?! You go, Girl! Her reaction amused me, as did her later comments.
After bringing Heather and me a decadent dessert to share, the waitress, again, expressed disbelief about my age and asked me, Do you have any kids? When I responded that I do indeed have children, she, again, exclaimed, You go, Girl!
Since joining the fifty club, I have heard similar comments about my age. When someone says, You don’t look fifty, I always wonder what fifty looks like or is supposed to look like. I know many fifty year old men and women, and everyone looks like the unique individuals they are, not a particular age or number.
I have yet to detect a tell-tale look that identifies a person as being a fifty year old and am unaware of a manual that describes what fifty looks like. So, I will continue to just be who I am, which is apparently a fifty year old girl on the go.
That’s another story . . .
Categories: That's Another Story