So I turned 45 on March 14th. Gasp. (They grow up so fast...)
My husband threw a birthday bash for me; it was going to be a surprise party, but he decided to tell me about it that morning by whispering, "Happy Birthday. I invited my mom and your parents over for your birthday. My friend Steve might come over, too. Make sure the house is clean." and falling asleep. (He works third shift.)
So while I was cleaning the house (and not wearing an apron and high heels like June Cleaver, by the way), I picked up a bottle of Mr. Clean and decided I'd use it to wash the kitchen floor. But, I wondered, did I need to dilute it? And--by how much? I lifted the bottle...and then straightened my arm until the label came into focus. And I realized. Holy Crap, I need glasses.
Funny how my eyes decided to let me know this exactly on my birthday; it was like they were waiting until the 14th to sing, "Happy Birthday to you, you're going to die soon. Your bo-dy's deteriorating and it's all down-hill! Enjoy your cake." Personally, it would have been nicer if my body decided to give me a cool gift, like magically losing thirty pounds and making the baby-belly pouch vanish, but I guess that's asking for too much.
Life is full of little surprises...(I guess I'd better enjoy them, because--as my body has decided to point out) I'm only mortal. Seize the day! (If you can see it.)