Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1625585-PUSHING-FORTY
by ashoo
Rated: E · Sample · Comedy · #1625585
The beginning of the forties in a woman brings to mind many thoughts
I'm forty. Not forty something, not even a kind thiry nine. The big four oh hit me when someone used the A word on me.

AUNTY..... a simple kind word, jarring  to the ears of a forty year old woman. Sure I did the whole Fun Forties birthday bash, threw a lavish party, invited half of the India that I knew.  The other half is below 40. The evening was a smashing success, with good wine, good food, music and dancing. A celebration of sorts that prepares me for dentures, bladder incontinence and arthirtis. What was everyone drinking, dancing and laughing about? The exit of the thirties?

The next few weeks saw me upping my weights at the gym, making my dynamic yoga routine a super dynamic one and walking that extra mile, in  hope that the new laugh line would shrink back into my face. Fat chance. Oh, and one should never mention the F word. FAT..  A woman at forty isn't fat. She is fullsome, pleasantly plump, fluffy and ageing gracefully. FAT is forbidden. In foods, in shopping sprees, in every party and at every wedding. Forty, but not fat, maybe fullsome and junoesque, but FAT,, nooo...

The best thing about being forty is that people around you finally take you seriously. Your husband for example, listens to every word you say, for fear that your hot flashes will take you to a screaming pitch that would make your neighbours call the police. The children are afraid, no, very afraid that mom's going to go red in the face, whine about how nobody listens to her and bursts into tears if her cake didnt turn out right. The inlaws and parents just keep a safe distance. The family dog prefers to move to a kennel. Yes, everyone listens to you at forty.

The young and the hip girls in their twenties, are never going to match up to the mature and graceful forty year old ladies. We are more experienced, yes, you know in which department. We can get away with calling a spade a spade, and fashion is what suits us. Any drop dead gorgeous bombshell we meet at a party is probably a bimbette, a kept woman and has had plastic surgery. No doubt about that.

Yes, I'm forty and have finally arrived!
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