Last Tuesday, quite appropriately, there was a newspaper article about famous 30-year-olds (and younger) and how much they’ve already achieved despite their young age.
Gee, thanks for cheering me up! I haven’t achieved squat.
I’m only joking; I’m not feeling particularly “age-crisis-y” (well, I’m writing this on Sunday, the day before, so let’s see how I’m thinking tomorrow) and I don’t even think I’m allowed to. 30 is nothing! I’m still a kid!
— Wrinkles? I can see two horizontal lines forming on the forehead but no prospective laugh lines (now, that’s weird) or anything like that.
— Greys? No genuine ones but I’ve had both white and black strands since I was a kid.
— Aches and pains? My legs are sore at the moment but that’s from cardio-boxing on Xbox Kinect…
— Skin on the back of my hand? Bounces right back.
— Grouchiness? No signs, I would say. (OK, I don’t seriously think old = grouchy )
— Cats? None.
Let’s see what that list looks like in 5-10 years, but for now, happy 30th birthday me!