I turned 40 earlier this week, and it did not kill me. After all the Drama and all the Angst, on the actual day, it didn't bother me at all. The wine, jewelry and fawning attention from my husband may have helped somewhat, but I suspect my relative calm has something to do with the commencement of a new decade. If my 40s go anything like my 30s did, I probaby won't give my actual age much more thought until I start creeping dangerously close to 50.
Besides, a couple of weeks ago, I was standing in the queue at the offy, and saw one of those old lady magazines with Joanna Lumley on the cover and the headline JOANNA: 60 IS THE NEW 40. Which, by that logic, makes 40 the new 20, and if it's good enough for Patsy Stone, it's good enough for me.
