If you have the number for the birthday police, I really need it. Last February I received a postcard in the mail that my women’s exam happens to expire around my birthday. Of course I had the option of going in a few weeks early so my birthday would be free of paraphernalia down in my South America. Bless their little hearts for giving me the option of choosing another week. But my question is: Why do they have to ruin my birthday month with annual exams? I want to ask the Birthday Police about this.
I would prefer to do almost anything else on my birthday than have an exam of that nature. Since my driver’s license and my professional license also expire on my birthday, I do have other options for my special day. Either way, I was left with three unforgettable choices for celebrating my birthday:
- Get a physical exam
- Renew my driver’s license
- Renew my professional license
What kind of a sick joke is this? We need a birthday police to make sure that nothing expires on our birthdays. What’s wrong with having licenses and pap smears expire on our half birthdays? That would mean that on August 18, half way between my last and next birthday, my licenses and pap smear would expire. I could deal with that.
Speaking of birthdays, I plan to celebrate mine until I get so old that my teeth, hearing, and memory are all gone. I want to milk my birthday for all it’s worth. Presents, parties, special dinners, and cards – bring them on!
A few weeks ago I had lunch with a friend in her early thirties. The conversation turned to birthdays and age. She commented on a TV commercial where a woman spoke of parentheses lines around her mouth. This angered my friend. She told me what a good thing it is – that faces are meant for lines, and how they define us and make us beautiful in unique ways. She reflected on how age is a virtue because it is connected with wisdom. Scripture emphasizes this. But in the midst of a culture that worships beauty it’s easy to forget this weighty truth.
Tomorrow I will turn fifty, and I’m feeling good about it. To me, it means I’m even more comfortable in my body, and much more free of societal expectations. I work out because I love it (please don’t stick Oreo cookies all over my car because you hate me!) and I love who I am and what I do on most days. Of course this side of Heaven, we all have our dignity and depravity, and I certainly have mine, which I’m writing about in my book.
So tomorrow I’ll celebrate and indulge by eating the richest, heaviest chocolate cake on the planet. I will remember that I have a great deal to be thankful for. What’s not to like?