A Bit Beaverish and a Lot of Sobbing

So far this spring I've heard Samantha sing and watched her dance, visited Meredith's new apartment and cheered Melissa on as she finished a marathon. We've wrangled feuding cats and a buffet we bought at an auction down into the basement. We've planted peas, potatoes, tomatoes and pumpkins, and constructed Mr. McGregor's garden for the lettuce, cabbage and other nibbly bits. I started marigolds and zinnias from seeds and cornered the market on geraniums. And, oh, yeah, I turned 50.

How the bloody hell did I get to be 50!?!?!

Many of my friends tried to console me -- "Fifty's not old."; "You're as young as you feel."; "Fifty is the new forty." Of course, all of these friends are still in their thirties and forties and haven't gotten the first death knell in the mail -- the initial AARP card. However, my oldest sister gave me the best message: "Welcome to the age where you no longer care what anyone thinks and you can say whatever you want."

So with that said:

*I didn't clean up and possibly put on make-up to listen to your child scream in a restaurant. Either pop him on the behind or, if you're afraid of child services, take him outside. I don't care if he's gifted or talented. From my perspective, he's a loud distraction that I shouldn't have to endure.

*Tampons should not be flowery scented. It's not natural and it makes me uneasy.

*Instead of relying on plug-in artificial fragrances, how about cleaning your house once in awhile?

*Why was it high treason that we rail against Dubya while he was in office, but it's perfectly fine to depict Obama as Hitler?

I do feel better. Maybe there's something to this 50-thing after all.