Is this mid-life yet? As I wake up today to my 36th birthday, I have to wonder. For years, I was in my “first third.” I pulled that off from about 30 onward, thinking, “Let’s see, if I live to 90, I’m still in the first third of my life.” I managed to believe that right up until I turned 34…34 times three is beyond the 100-year mark, and I really have no desire to live that long. So, now I’m in the second third. Not quite mid-life, I don’t think, although I have been thinking lately of getting my belly button pierced, of finally finding a tattoo that I could live with forever, of flirting with everyone I meet, of moving to Italy…
36 is a good number. I like it. One prime, one not. One divides into the other. Both numbers are curvy and sensuous. When you see them together, it’s like they’re leaning toward each other, like they want to lick each other, but are afraid to do so. I feel that way about my life, sometimes. So close to the thing I want, afraid to reach out and take it into my mouth. Maybe this year will be the year that I taste them all, without reservation, without fear. I hope so.
There was supposed to be a delightful and sexy picture of me at 36 to accompany this post, but alas my computer refuses to cooperate, so you’ll have to wait until later!
Happy day of birth, whenever you were born. Happy, happy day! Happy curvy, sensual numbers that promise so much!
PS–Well, the world officially has a sense of humor. After all my struggle to upload a photo of myself this morning, I posted this and then, right after, get word from editor Rachel Kramer Bussel that my story, “Perfect Bound” has been officially accepted for her upcoming anthology, Spanked: Red Cheeked Erotica. So, a double celebration with birthday spanks must be in order!