I had something I was going to write about, but now I forget what it was. This being in my 40s thing is so neat. I can't remember anyone's name, I can't remember what I walked into a room for, I can't remember lines from movies, and I used to be able to recite those things like some people recite the bible; chapter and verse. I don't know how I ever remembered all the words to Billy Joel's We Didn't Start the Fire (but I did, in college, when I wasn't doing the required reading.) I'm shocked that I remembered Billy Joel's name just then. I also fart more.
In Tina Fey's book, Bossypants, her chapter entitled "What Turning Forty Means to Me" says: " I need to take my pants off as soon as I get home. I didn't used to have to do that. But now I do." That's the whole chapter, and its a good one, and absolutely true.
This was not what I was going to write about, but I have no idea what super-topic I had planned.
Hey, you know what? I just finished the third book in the Fifty Shades of Grey series, and I have to tell you two things:
1) A woman in my Trashy Book Club told us that her husband said it was the best book he never read. And if you've read it, you know what he's talking about.
2) At the end of book three, there is dossier on the main female character, and it lists her mother's year of birth as 1970. I WAS BORN IN 1970! So not only can I not identify with the main character's fantastic sex life and crazy wealth, but I'M OLD ENOUGH TO BE HER MOTHER. That is sobering.