I went to bed with a stranger…

… the night I turned forty. Before you expect a sordid account of a sexy night, be forewarned that this contains the drone of a disgruntled, pre-menopausal female struggling to cope with the burden of four decades lost.

Alice must have turned forty. The only reason to justify going through the looking glass is to bash up the stranger on the other side who thinks it is funny to transmit a distorted image of the person you’ve become. Good for her then, that she found her mad hatter. I’m still walking around with a bludgeoning device looking for my nemesis.

Fairy tales and jokes aside, I’m serious. The day after I turned forty, I did not recognize the person I saw in the mirror. Forget the clichéd sagging bosom and flapping wings… or in my case, the thunder thighs… it’s the face I faulted! The hair was thinning and had gone curly at the fringes, not to mention threatening strands of glistening grey. The eyebrows seem divided by a defined bridge (over the river cry) formed by very compelling and very angry wrinkles. Best of all, my cheekbones and jaw seem to have been fused by fat!

I tried to flash a smile in a bid to restore familiarity and all I came up with was a cracked-pot with a diabolical grin that is crowned with a permanent frown. Where had those pearly whites disappeared? Where was that charm? The twinkle?

I refused to concede that this was a result of over-indulgences, stress or even the pragmatic villain called Time. I refused to subscribe to exaggerated self-preservation in a bid to turn back the clock.

The only solution therefore, was to make a new friend.

So I did just that. On day two of turning forty, I bravely reached out and shook hands with the new me, cheeks, jaws, eyebrows, hips etc et al.

It’s been over four months since and I’d like to say we’ve become good friends. Not the best as yet, because I still can’t get why the hell she kills the high of three martinis by dousing it with gulps of two liters of water. Or why Pepcid, tiger oil and anti-aging cream are placed by the nightstand, where a pack of Marlies used to be.

But I must confess I enjoy her temperament. For instance, she reads the papers just for the heck of it, and almost every day scans the obits, knowing that the time has come to make sure one reaches out to those who will need comforting. She’s introduced me to the pleasures of drinking green tea – all the caffeine one needs without the guilt of coffee beans! Not sure if genteel is an appropriate word but that’s how I describe her approach to change. Nothing like the aggressive challenger I once was!

I guess all of this makes it easier to accept some of her quirks: it takes a couple of seconds for all muscles to fall into place when she stands up, this despite daily intermittent rounds of cardio and yoga to keep systems at go (I call this the “shudder of the udder and the rudder” before the ship sets sail)! Or when she whips out a flashlight from her handbag to avoid squinting through premature optical cataracts that would normally make reading menus a challenge.

Yes indeed, Forty is a new friend and the best way to describe her is in the words of Billy Joel –

She takes care of herself

She can wait if she wants

She’s ahead of her time

And she never gives out

And she never gives in

She just changes her mind. 

MA