I can’t say I woke up yesterday very excited about turning 41.  It’s a rather non-descript age, yes? You’re no longer standing on the great precipice which is FORTY, but you can’t quite start crying about 50.  Yet.  But it’s out there…just waiting to punch me in the face.  No need to beat around the bushes ladies.  There’s nothing gentle about aging, and I don’t intend to candy-coat it here.

So I did the only thing I know to do when I wake up on the wrong side of the bed: I put on red shoes.  Bright, high-heeled sassy red shoes.  $3 at consignment, and yes, you should all go shopping with me sometime, because peeking out from under that pie are $40 black Chanel pants that still had the $350 price tag when I snagged them at Selective Seconds.

I canceled plans with my gals until one found me at school and told me to start acting like myself again.  I love my girlfriends.  And not only did we have pie, but she gave me AN ENTIRE PIE as a gift.  See?  Girlfriends rock, someone should make a t-shirt, and I’m starting the fan club.  I blared R&B in my sexy minivan all day, while running around in my red shoes, because I was feeling better about 4+1.

I arrived home to tulips and roses and messages and cards, and well, that felt very nice indeed. Grandmommy is here, which just makes everything extra special and festive.  Greg came home early with a gift in his hand, which was surprising in shape and size, because it clearly wasn’t a techy gadget designed to make my day easier or a kitchen tool.  I love his usual MO, but you know what I really love?  My new pearl bracelet.  I love pearls.  Oh how I love pearls. I had to dash upstairs to change, because Greg took me to see Steven Sondheim’s A Little Night Music playing at the Indiana Repertory Theater.  I do love one thing more than pearls: live theater.  So all in all…I think I’m going to be OK with this “in my 40′s” thing.

I was 20 once.  I was quite naive and brash…a terrible combination.  I had bad hair.  I couldn’t afford lavish things like pie, let alone pearls.  I hadn’t yet learned the red shoe trick. Luckily, I had R&B.  I volunteered at theaters as an usher so I could see the shows for free.  But God knows that couldn’t possibly make up for my bad hair.  And I didn’t have this guy, which marks the moment my real life began.  So in this, my 41st Birthentine Season, I wish for you red shoes, pie, and pearls as well.  Happy Valentine’s Day!