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The Truth About Becoming Middle Aged
I’m 41. Believe it or not, I used to be 40 but despite my best efforts pleading with the universe, it flatly refused to decouple me from timespace and so as it turns out, time is still very much coupled to space and anyway, one thing led to another and now I’m a year older.
Stupid, sexy relativity.
Turning 40 last year officially slipped me into the middle aged bracket.
As brackets go, it wasn’t as bad as anticipated, thanks. Like a swimming pool on holiday, it’s OK once you’re in. Besides, we’re all in perpetual denial of death, and so instead of thinking about my advancing years I just enjoyed the hilarious novelty of having a 4 at the start of my age.
I got to walk around for a year telling everyone about it. It was a headline. I played off of it. I regaled tales of being 40 as part of my stand up comedy routine at open mic nights. To me, it sounded relevant and funny, even though it was probably neither.
41 however, takes all that away. It’s just, well, 41. It’s a thunder stealer. No one cares. I’m simply another middle aged twat who’s one year older. Bugger.
The Midlife Crisis
It’s no surprise I began stand up comedy when I turned 40. It was certainly a midlife crisis of sorts, but in my defence, it was a small…
