On January 29th, 2011 I will be 60 years old. My funny side is busy writing comedy about being a 30 year old trapped in a 60 year old body. Getting up in the morning now includes setting the alarm clock 20 minutes earlier than necessary to allow all the body parts to warm up and function properly. First, there is the 5 minutes of groaning, followed by all the covers getting furiously kicked off. Then the legs and arms start flailing wildly causing my husband to roll over and say, ” Having another nightmare dear?” Finally, I fling my legs over the side of the bed… I am already anticipating how much my feet will hurt once they hit the wood floor. (Of course I’m blaming it on the hard floor.) ┬áVery slowly, I make my way to the bathroom where I see my Mother staring back at me in the mirror, which is very strange because she has been gone for 20 years.

I’m married to a man I have known since 11th grade. He says I’m just as cute as I was at fifteen. I make him put his bifocals on and look again but he still insists I haven’t changed much. (Except for the fact that my natural red hair is yesterday’s news.) He even claims my pound for every year of marriage weight gain is attractive. He says voluptuous woman are very sexy. (The man is a keeper.)

There is something very sweet about being married to a person my own age, especially someone who has weathered all the storms and enjoyed so many special moments with me. We crack up at the same jokes, love 60’s music and both enjoy reminiscing about the good old days together. We know that even though we’re aging, we’re still kids on the inside, capable of enjoying life and most importantly, still having the ability to laugh at ourselves when things don’t go quite right.

At 60…I may not be doing cartwheels on the front lawn but if you peek through my window, you might see me dancing to the music of the Pointer Sisters.

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