Monday, August 5, 2013

Reasons 40's Rule and 20's Drool II


At 20, you probably either dread the notion of having screaming poop machines because, after all, you only just recently learned to wipe your own ass. Or, you fantasize about having kids "someday" along with a perfectly chiseled spouse and cookie cutter house with a white picket fence.

At 40, you have probably made it through the rough first years of your kids lives- think shitty diapers and colic. And by 40 you have arrived at the coveted stage in their lives that was the sole purpose of having kids in the first place. #winebutler


At 20 you worry about them being too big or too small, finding the right bra, revealing too much or too little. Friends and dudes judge you solely on your rack, and if they're not up to snuff, then you're screwed. Or not.
At 40 your boobs become your best friend. By now they have reached full potential in size and have likely become curvaceous with age and after having kids. Though they might be a wee bit saggy, you have the option to use the all powerful push-up wonder bra to hoist them up or you have the pocketbook to get a boob job to put those puppies back into place. You're a full-fledged woman now and may have breast fed, so you're totally comfortable with the girls popping out from time to time "accidentally" and even use them to your advantage in housework bargaining scenarios with your partner. Extortion at its finest.                                                                                                                            

At 20, you try to be hip and trendy and listen to the genre du jour religiously. Whatever is in en vogue, you go all in listening to that and only that, until the next best thing comes along. Garage bands, grunge, electronica, alternative, cow-punk (google it)- whatever the "in crowd" is listening to, you're listening along enthusiastically until the honorary music guru of your group crowns the next "it sound."    

At 40, you know all the important precedent setting artists and jams, you know a bad remake when you hear it, and you know what you like and what you don't. So when some whipper snapper drives through your neighborhood blasting their techno-hip-hop-bump-remix-feat-blah-blah-bullshit, you can scream "fuck that noise and you kids get off my lawn."  Only 40 some-things have lived through the birth of arguably the most important music to date and experienced it firsthand. So not only can we look cool head bobbing to the Rolling Stones, Bob Marley, and The Ramones, and squealing when Jessie's Girl comes on, we can also rock the new shit like a motherfucker.

At 20, you say yes to everything. Yes to a date with that jack-off with body odor. Yes to planning your friend's dog's birthday party. Yes to going to the sports bar to watch the game with your boyfriend rather than to see the rom-com that just came out. Yes to Sunday dinner at decrepit Aunt Dorothy's house. Yes to your ex that you can still be friends and he can date your yoga instructor. Yes you'll be the room mom, party planner, cookie baker, craft fair organizer, PTA Treasurer. Yes. Yes. Yes! (And not how Sally had in mind, because at 20, you don't know who Sally is.)

At 40, you say no to everything. No. Just no. Fuck it, no. Even if you want to do it, the answer is still NO. No, I don't want to drive 20 minutes your way for a drink. No, you can't borrow my car to pick up your grandma at the airport. No, I don't want to go to your sorority reunion. No, I don't want to have sex tonight. No, I won't try on these clothes in the store- I'll buy them and try them on at home and return them if they don't work. We say NO first, ask questions later.


At 20, you worry about pleasing everyone. Your parents, friends, boyfriend or girlfriend, teachers, etc. Do you like this outfit? Yes, you look fantastic. You don't mind if I go out with the guys to watch the game do you? No, go have a good time baby. Would you like to come over and help me give my cat a coffee enema to help her Irritable Bowel Syndrome? Sure! Sounds like fun!

At 40, you begin to tell it like it is. Either you have no time for these games or your brain has just lost all of the creativity cells it once needed to sugar coat your responses. Instead of telling your spouse you want them to try this wonderful new pro-biotic to help with their stomach circumference because they're probably just backed up, you hand them a gym membership and a diet coke and say "Hit the bricks, dough boy."  If your friend has on too much bronzer, instead of telling her that her cheeks look pretty and flush, you say "What the fuck is wrong with your face? Are you interviewing for a position as a clown stripper?" When a girlfriend asks if those jeans make her butt look big, without hesitation, you say YES! Ain't nobody got time to pussyfoot around.

If you're over 40, you know it should be you're.
If you're 20, you probably didn't notice. 

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