On getting old (but not growing up). Ageing is a bitch.

So you may want to look away for like, this entire year.

Why?

I've mentioned before that my 40th birthday is looming in 2013 and with every day I feel myself venturing into mid-life crisis territory. And seeing as I've got until September until 'D Day' I'm growing slightly concerned about my mental state, seeing as it's, you know, only January.

So there's my disclaimer: read on at your own risk.

Now I'm not the sort to get maudlin over age or anything, I sailed through my 30th like it was nothing after all, and only mildly panicked at age 38 (where suddenly I could no longer get away with clinging desperately to referring to myself as 'mid 30s' and realised I had ventured squarely into the 'late 30s' category).

(Now we will not talk about the year I turned 31. That was an anomaly. An aberration. And will heretofore be referred to as The Year That Shall Not Be Named and scrubbed from any and all history books).

Getting older is a funny thing. For starters (and all you young'uns take note) YOU DON'T FEEL ANY OLDER.

Not a skerrick. Seriously.

I think mentally I've stalled at approx. age 27. Wise enough to know better but young and dumb enough not to care.

I've talked to my grandmother about this strange phenomenen and she, at the ripe old age of early 90s, wisely said that if I thought that was odd, try being 90 and thinking you're 43. Particularly in the morning when your brain is telling you to leap out of bed...

Something to look forward to.

So anyhoo, I think I'm 27, I act like I'm probably even younger and happily have enjoyed people thinking I was way younger than I actually am.

My favourite being at age 27 and announcing I was pregnant, some of my 3-year long workmates telling me I should perhaps reconsider becoming a 'teen mum'.

I have a favourite photo (below) of my son and I taken Christmas Day 2011 (in which our lovely receptionist told me she would think I was 25). So it was with a bit of a fright that I regarded Christmas Day 2012 photos and realised in the short space of 12 months I suddenly looked OLD. Like way old! Sure I hadn't gone to town with the makeup a la 2011 but still...!!!

Christmas 2011

Christmas 2012...eek!

I had a chat to my stepmother and she said that she thinks we have small pockets of accelerated ageing and I have to agree. It's really weird to expect one face in the mirror only to have some old hag that looks vaguely like you staring back at you.

(Note to self: do NOT look in the mirror at 3:30pm today as per this article as apparently we look our oldest on Wednesday afternoons...eek!).

Sadly it's happening more and more often. And when I told everyone at my work that it was my 40th this year, they have all just looked at me and said 'ok' instead of the obligatory 'NO WAY!!!!! I thought you were 30!'.

Boo.

Sure, if I cake on the makeup for a night out, I reckon I can still scrub up alright but mornings are becoming horrifying. In fact, sometimes downright nightmarish (usually when caked on makeup has NOT been scrubbed off the night previously). A total horror show.

Sadly also over the past few years our conversations have turned to two major subjects, the first being our attitudes towards plastic surgery. On this topic we used to have two very separate camps: the first totally pro and the second vehemently anti any surgical 'assistance'.

Strangely enough, and coincidentally aligning with strangers appearing in the mirror, some of the anti camp have started to climb the fence and over the years are becoming less and less opposed to the idea of returning our faces and bodies to those we enjoyed effortlessly not that many years before.

The second subject is the whole 'mutton dressed as lamb' debate.

It's an odd one and a very fine tightrope to navigate. On one hand, we want to maintain the 'young and cool' image we've always enjoyed (truly!) but at the same time there is nothing more sad than seeing someone desperately trying to hang onto their glory days when they should really, really hang up the fishnets (speaking of, I'm a big fan of the fishnets...so question: when is it too old to rock these???).

My sister lost a lot of weight a few years back and became extremely skinny (biatch) and it was a huge issue. I mean, just cause she could fit into it and looked a million bucks, did the top and bottom match?

It always takes me back to when I was about 25 and working for a company where we had this 40 year old woman employed there. Now this chick had the best body I've ever seen...hands down. And on Mondays to Thursdays she looked amazing in her corporate wear that was conservative enough to work well in the office but definitely showed her figure to its best advantage.

However, 'casual Friday's' were a whole different story. This chick would turn up ready to 'work' in skintight hipster jeans, crop tops with 'Sexy' emblazoned on them in rhinestones, acres of flesh on display and huge wedge heels, all the better to exhibit off her toe and belly button rings.

One day I saw one of our young guys holding his hand up and squinting like he was staring into the sun. When asked wtf he was doing, he said he was ogling this chick but had to block out her head because otherwise it all just looked wrong. He likened it to one of those 'what's wrong with this picture?' puzzles.

Don't get me wrong, she was a beautiful woman and didn't look 40, but she definitely looked like a woman from the neck up and Christina Aguliera circa 'Dirrty' from thereon down.

Important lesson learned: mutton dressed as lamb is sad, sad, sad. And just because you CAN wear it, doesn't mean you SHOULD.

So anyhoo, back on point, this is my internal struggle every time I go out and every time I am going heavy on the cats eye.

The cat's eye is my other issue: it's my thing. I have enjoyed a very long and very intimate relationship with my black eyeliner and don't want to ever stop (the only relationship I will ever have with anything cat....refer previous post The Accidental Cat Lady). But again, just cause I can, does it mean I should? Or should I just say 'fuck it', and rock the cats eye in my 90s when I'm blind and shaky and pretend I'm making a Monet statement????

So this ageing thing is a total bitch. And seeing those two photos side by side was enough to make me run straight to the beautician and beg them for help.

I am now enrolled in a 'skin course' where I am getting sanded, buffed, cheese grated, serum-ed, moisturised and polished until people start saying 'there's NO FREAKING WAY you're 40!!!'.

I have declared war.

So there.

And I will not stop until I either win the battle or have a complete mid-life crisis mental breakdown.

Whichever comes first.

Place your bets.

And to finish...I give you Christina in Dirrty. Why? Well, why not?

Bec xx