Crossing the Rubicon

I have now officially crossed over into my 5th decade. It sucks donkey balls.

My friend sent me a card which said "You survived the Eighties..... so you can survive your Forties!"

I am not so sure about that. Time will tell, I suppose. I am still completely struggling with the way forward from this slough of despondency. At least in the Eighties, outrageous hair and make-up could camouflage my troubles. It is a bit more difficult in the tasteful Noughties!

Birthdays were never my thing anyway. I don't like too much fuss at the best of times. Luckily, there are not too many of my family making a fuss since I alienated most of them at the wedding the other week. Ha! Mission accomplished.

My rock-like friends all know what is going on and are being both solicitous and mindful of my reluctance to celebrate this milestone. They know how badly I wanted to be a mother or at least PG before my fortieth birthday. I know it is a random point in the calendar but it is the same as every other Xmas and holiday and the thinking of "surely next time".

It is the grasping of the concept that there may not be a next time. Maybe I just need to get a life? Oh wait. I have already got one of those. It sucks.

Mr P is struggling on manfully in his efforts to distract me from my current barrenness/impending old age. If I was him, I would have chucked in the towel weeks ago and divorced my sorry self.

He has booked us a trip to Prague in December when the Xmas Markets are on. Prague was the first place we ever went on holiday as a couple (12 years ago). We have not been back since and maybe the ghost of my younger optimistic self will be found haunting the caricaturists on the Charles Bridge. Last time, we were poor and stayed in a hostel. This time, there is more to play with in the budget and my high standards in pillows and Art Nouveau chandeliers can be fully indulged.

There was talk of amber jewellery being purchased whilst we are there. Also, some actual lovely peridot earrings were dangled in front of me as a birthday enticement to raise a smile. Miserable bitch that I am, I attempted to smile but fell far short of what was deemed appropriate.