Unlike most of my contemporaries, I very much look forward to my next milestone birthday.
I love that I’m becoming a woman of a certain age.
Which is a nice way of saying that I’m becoming an old broad. Considering the alternative, I’m perfectly fine with aging.
Yet, despite my soul’s best efforts to continue to convince me that I am still in my 20’s, my recent visit to the optometrist says otherwise.
In fact, Awesomely Luvvie wrote an amazing post about the patron saint of black women of a certain age, Miss Edith Childs, who was a guest at this year’s State of the Union speech.
Seriously, that post was nothing less than perfection. It gave me a glimpse into my inevitable future.
I’m turning into a little old lady. Strike that—a little old black lady. And I’m loving it!
How do I know? I’m already seeing the signs:
10. My capacity to give any type of fucks about stupidity and foolishness is nearing an all time low.
9. I’m the lady always looking out of the window to see what’s happening outside when you or your music are way too loud.
8. I have to ask younger people to translate Kanye’s and Wiz’s Twitter beef or I have to wait for blog posts to appear so I have an understanding about the what the hell is going on.
7. I call my boyfriend “Black man” in the course of our everyday conversation.
6. I yearn to be one of those ladies on the Metra with her devotional weekly reading from church in one hand, and a .38 in her purse.
5. Referring to everyone younger than me as a “baby” or calling them “Child…”
4. I can’t wait to age another 20 years so I can cuss someone out on the bus without getting shot.
3. When someone says something stupid I don’t answer. I just fall into middle age black woman respose while humming a spiritual. See #10.
2. I talk to food at the grocery store. More specifically I talk to the food about how its prices keep on rising.
1. I’m starting to feel an unusual attraction to sequins.
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