damn, sixty

Scrolling through my camera I discover my granddaughter has snapped pictures of me exercising in my underwear. Good god, that's a sobering experience even for the most hardened cowgirl, but there is a more daunting event dancing on my horizon.  My 60th birthday looms before me.  People will expect me to be celebratory and joyful and secretly hoping for a surprise birthday party although those in my inner circle have been severly warned regarding that situation. I am dreading the scrutiny and attention this birthday will bring and I'm thinking of hiding in a dark movie theater the whole day with a bottle of Kessler's.

On my last birthday I was surrounded by grandchildren at Happy Joe's, taco pizza within reach, and the ooga horn was headed towards my table.  I would soon be announced as a birthday person and the young thing in candy-striped skirt looks me over and says, "do you want me to say your age?"  Oh for chrissake, I wanted to karate chop her right in the middle of her soft, unwrinkled neck. She will not age well, the little tart, with those simpleton opinions of what older women should be like.

I need to calm down. It's only a day among many days.  I swam two miles today at the college pool and yesterday did a four-mile walk in under an hour. I will not go gently into the night, no sir, write me out of that scenario.

But I still want to know, what's going to kill me?