I find it quite humorous when you tell me to act my age. You grunt and roll your eyes.
“You are 40 years old. Come on, act your age.”
What you don’t seem to understand is, I am acting my age.
You see, my age is dependent on the mood I am in, the “place” I find myself in.
It comes very natural for me to act child-like.
Have you ever witnessed a two year old go about their day?
They go, go, go…. Running and screaming through the house. Expending energy with every step. They cry when they are sad. They laugh when they are happy. When they get hungry or tired, they fuss. At the end of a long, hard day of go, go, going; they either pass out cold, or they pitch a fit worthy of Raquel Welch’s approval.
I easily find myself reverting to natural two year behavior. My whole life is go, go, go. Do the laundry, clean the floors, get some exercise, plan dinner. Have I eaten yet today? Woops! Eat a Luna bar. Check important emails. Pick up kids from school. Play with kids. Go, go, go! By 6 pm, I am spent. Ready to pass out from exhaustion, or pitch a fit. Sorry, darling husband, that this seems to coincide with your arrival.
I also have a lot of drama in me. On any given day, I can give a teenage girl (with PMS, mind you), a run for her money. What do you mean my favorite show did not get recorded?!? Sheldon spanked Amy. And I missed it!?! Aaaaand we are all out of wine. And you came home two minutes late! My life sucks, everybody hates me, and I hate everyone else! I need chocolate!!!!!! But no, it will make me fat. SHIT! (Enter Raquel worthy dramatic performance. This time I am sure to win an Emmy).
I also like being in my twenties. 105 pounds, four pack abs. Men flirting me. (Well, who wouldn’t? I am hot, athletic, funny, and energetic). I want sex, with lots and lots of foreplay. I like it when my new husband flirts with me. I laugh at all the dumb jokes he makes. I love bending over the pool table to make my shot. (Have I mentioned, I have a great ass!) And if I am feeling really confident, I will hike one leg up onto the table, and bank the cue ball into my last solid, followed by the 8 ball. (I remember to call the corner pocket first, duh!)
Sometimes, I even like being 40. I am free to run my life the way I want. People tell me how great I look (of course, it is followed by “for your age” or “after having two kids”), and I take it with pride. I can still run five miles without keeling over. I know a lot more than I did. (God, I wish I had known half of what I know now.) I am also feeling freer to express my sexual desires. (But that is mostly because, if I don’t I will not get anything I want)
So you see, there is no one true age for me. I am energetic and fun loving. I wear my heart on a sleeve. And I don’t filter a lot of what I say. I am not truly 40 years old. At least not in spirit.
So the next time you tell me to act my age, think about it.
Maybe. I. am.