I turned 40 today. It’s not nearly as bad as everyone makes it sound, not that that’s particularly difficult with all the “welcome to 40 – you’re actively dying now!” paraphernalia on the market. Personally I think that’s bullshit. Your forties is when you hit your stride; it’s when you really perfect not giving a fuck, and start living your life for yourself. Also, now that I’m 40, when people go, “no way – you can’t be a day older than 25!” it sounds like I’m TWO decades younger instead of one! (Don’t feel bad, though – the women in my family have a portrait in the attic made out of estrogen, and the day we hit menopause we go from Betty Boop to Betty White pretty much overnight. I’m rocking it while I have it, because I see the Bassett Hound jowls coming up the road at me.)
But the point of this post is that nobody knows you like your best friend. She’s the one who knows when it’s time to tease you, and when it’s time to just shut up and hold your hand; The one with whom you can pick up where you left off, no matter how long it’s been; The one who knows exactly what to give you for your birthday, even if you didn’t even know you wanted it. Mine is no different. Today she sent me this, with the comment “all I can think of is crochet bondage now…is that wrong?”:
Followed shortly by “yeah, I had to look it up”:
I have friends with all kinds of kinks – and a number in the BDSM and leather communities – it makes them happy, so I ain’t judging. But something about crochet and bondage makes me think “grandma’s going to dominate you….WITH CUDDLES!” more than sexy fun time.
WTF: it’s exactly what I wanted! Give WTF for any occasion, so that your loved one can spend the day chuckling quizzically and periodically dropping the laptop and running in amused terror. And maybe even pull a blog post out of it! Thanks, sweetie. You’re the absolute best.