Late thirties

There’s nothing particularly exciting about turning thirty-seven. It’s not as big and scary as FORTY, but it’s not young sounding like thirty-two. It’s just thirty-seven. Married with a couple of kids age. Saving for retirement and worrying about a rapidly slowing metabolism age. Looking around and wondering why everyone looks so grown up and realizing you are too age.

Ugh.

But instead of letting the dull wash over me, I’m focusing on the awesome. At 37, I have the best kids, the funniest husband, the dearest friends, and a caring and insane family. I have a great cat. Rumour has it there will be burgers and cake tonight. I just joined a new book club. And I’m about to kick off my second year of law school, the craziest, stupidest and best decision I ever made (well, about my work life anyway). Also, 37 is a prime number. So that’s neat.

Yes, 37 will be a good year I think. Provided the Asshat Cheeto doesn’t destroy the planet, of course.

 

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