Groupon wants me to get Botox.

No, seriously. They DO.

Up until today, my weekly emails were largely harmless, featuring the likes of petting zoos and pottery making.

No more.

Groupon is now sending me straight down the botulism brick road. “$350 value for only $100. Buy now!”

Their timing is ironic; today I turn 43.

Getting older doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to. When I was in my 30s I dreaded the yearly birthday. (Okay, not everything about it sucked because QUEEN FOR A DAY and all that.) I hated inching towards 40.

Doesn’t bother me at all anymore.

That being said, most people don’t realize my true age when they meet me.

My sister says it is because I act so immature. (Oh snap.) I prefer to think it is because I am such a fun loving and carefree spirit. (That is, when I am not being bitchy, sarcastic and exhausted, of course.) 

I’ve come to realize that age is, as they say, just a number.

I’ve also come to realize that those “somedays” I always dreamed about are, in fact, these days. And the goal of the person I always wanted to be needs to happen sooner rather than later.

Basically, if I want it to happen I need to get moving. Like, yesterday.

There is a certain freedom in that knowledge. Like the universe is suddenly giving me permission to do and say what I want.

To be real rather than appropriate.

To be impulsive rather than systematic.

To enjoy the experience rather than hustle.

Once you realize these things you can’t help but enjoy your forties. As for the Botox, I think I’ll pass.