It's a terrible admission but, as I'm rapidly approaching 50, I believe I'm about to officially become (yes, I know that's a split infinitive!) an "Old Fart".
The problem is, I don't feel a day over 16!
I watch people on television and think, "Oh you stupid old dinosaur!" - and then I realize they're probably younger than me!
I was stunned recently when Donny Osmond appeared on television and began gushing about his grandchildren! What kind of an alternative universe is this?????? Donny Osmond is my age! It is biologically impossible for someone my age to be a grandparent - isn't it????
And then there's those bloody mirrors and shop windows. I go into town feeling young and gorgeous and suddenly I catch a glimpse of some fat old grey haired sheila who looks just like I might look .... at 49 and 3/4. Except I'm 16 and still skinny and gorgeous and I'd never let myself go like that ... would I?
And when did they start using distorting mirrors in change rooms? How can they hope to sell clothes when the mirrors make you look like your boobs have headed south, you're 9 months pregnant, and your chin comes in multiples of 10? I know that's not really me! It's all some capitalist plot!
Shop assistants also drive me insane. They take my credit card and call me Mrs Vensson! Come on! Seriously! Do I look old enough to be married?
I say "Miss - Miss Vensson -as in missed out!"
And they look at me with that blank look that says, "You stupid old fart, are you so senile you don't even remember you have a husband?"
I won't even begin to talk about going to the doctor. Well, OK, yes I will! Since when was someone straight out of grade school allowed to be a doctor? I went to the hospital recently and some 12 year old with a stethoscope greeted me and said, "Now Mrs Vensson ... "
"Miss Vensson" I hissed.
"Sorry, Ms Vensson, can you just step behind this curtain and prepare for an internal examination?"
Like bloody hell, I would!
He must have seen my geriatric scowl as he cowered a minute and then said, "Ahhh, no, I see by your chart it's probably not necessary, let's move on."
Well, that's one advantage of advancing death, you perfect a withering stare that can disarm anyone under 30 at 60 paces.
I'm trying not to think about turning 50. I hope it won't be like my 30th birthday, sitting at home, alone in my apartment, eating a hot pink, penis shaped birthday cake that the pastry chef at work baked for me.
My 40th was fun, but it can't possibly have happened 10 years ago!
I'm beginning to think that the last 34 years have all just been a terrible dream and that one day, in the not too distant future, I'll wake up and realize it's my 16th birthday .... again.