At 20, you probably shop for cute, lacy panties that are sexy and will be eye catching to a potential suitor. You may also ascribe to the notion that you must always have on pretty, clean panties in the event of a sudden horrific death. Which is stupid, because in the event of a horrific death, they'll just be shit stained anyway.
At 40, you relish the choices available and change your underwear style with your mood. You're less worried about being sexy and trendy at all times, because who the fuck sees your underwear while you're out in public anyway? Power to the granny panty, thong wearing, going commando crew in their 40's.
At 20, alcohol is a legend you wish you could be a part of; full of mystery and intrigue. You'll drink anything you can sneak out of your parent's liquor cabinet or whatever beer you can get the local jock named Bubba to buy you from the bait and tackle store. You cannot wait to turn 21 and start living it up in nightclubs and drinking too much Two Fingers Tequila and throwing up all over the floor. True story.
At 40, you've gotten most of the stupid binge drinking out of your system and have a refined palate of likes and dislikes in your choice of booze. You may indulge in wine with corks from time to time rather than simply Boone's Farm or boxed Franzia. And you may even respond "Grey Goose" when the bartender asks if you have a preferred vodka for your cocktail rather than saying "whatever blinding rot gut house vodka you have is fine."
At 20, you strive to be popular or the cool hipster. You want to be surrounded by people who adore you and keep you constantly entertained, be the life of the party and be invited to the party in the first place.
At 40, you don't have time for drama or the emotional vortex of exhausting friendships and you just want everyone to leave you the fuck alone. Including your partner and kids. Only a very select few will infiltrate your inner sanctum of madness. It may be a couple of old high school or college friends, or the other drunken mom from the soccer field. No matter who it is, you have that special gift of unagi with them and when someone says "get off my deck" you know with a quick sideways glance at one another you're both thinking "that's what she said."
At 20, you are either a naive novice just learning the ropes or the town slut who watches porn so you can be on top of (that's what she said) all the hot new moves to please your lovahs. Cowboy hats and stilettos? Why not. You make sure your glory hole and/or beans and franks are impeccably groomed in case an opportunity to get randy pops up. (Also what she said.)
At 40, you have sex on your own time and your own terms. When you want, where you want and wearing what you want. That doesn't mean you're an insatiable sex machine with no self control, only that it has become more about you and not your lover(s) expectations and being comfortable in your own skin. And when it's go time, it's go time. No need to fret about unshaven legs or the fact that you're wearing holey briefs. By now, your partner has become accustomed to the finer nuances of your appearance, or lack-thereof, and is ready to throw down the hammer when you are.
At 20, you're broke, working paycheck to paycheck, and have a huge college debt hanging over your head. You eat Ramen noodles for lunch and dinner and you buy drugstore makeup brands like Lip Smacker and Wet-N-Wild.
At 40, you're broke, going through a nasty divorce, living on part of your ex's paycheck, have a huge income tax lien hanging over your head. You eat wherever the fuck you want and you buy Sephora makeup like Urban Decay or Two Faced using your ex's Amex, because that's what he is. Or, you know, you're just more financially secure because you worked your way up at your J.O.B.
|At 40, we like to party like rock stars at home in our pajamas with expensive booze.|