I caved. I’m working for the first time in my life with a pair of reading glasses on my face.

I hit three different optical stores at the mall searching for an over-the-counter pair. All of them looked like granny glasses and announced, “I’m fucking old.” WalMart had a perfect dark blue frame for $17 that suits my face well. What a deal.

So, I guess I’m old, but I think I have a somewhat sexy, intelligent look in these things that could even be a turn-on for the right guy.

Speaking of guys…

Since it seemed to work pretty well last week when I selfishly reclaimed my Sunday, I’ve decided to make it a standard practice, at least until someone comes along who makes me feel inclined to share.

I saw the Dentist again last weekend for lunch; he and the Rock Star missed each other at my house by 20 minutes. Since both of them are local, I suppose need to have a conversation with each of them about my status, which is that I am dating.

I define dating as spending time doing fun things with men whom I find interesting. I am not husband-hunting, nor do I want to be in a serious relationship. I say that, but if the right man were in the right place at the right time, I think my story would change.

The Rock Star has professed his love for me, but it seems sophomoric to me – really. I don’t think he loves me, as much as he just loves having a “girlfriend,” as he defines it.

And the poor Dentist seems a little confused, perhaps because his sister lives across from me and could have easily told him about the jacked-up Jeep in my driveway last Saturday night. I dunno.

So I have two offers for birthday celebrations next week (it’s Tuesday), but my choice and honest preference is to spend November 24th with my kids. The boys can wait for a more appropriate weekend time to entertain me.

I’ve already gotten my most important birthday gift, anyway. Mr. Nice Guy has never forgotten – not once in 23 years. His package arrived this week, and it’s sitting here on my desk, unopened, until Tuesday. He’s just amazing. I still wonder if he’s The One.

With my forties in full-swing now, multi-focal contacts on my eyes, wrinkles on my neck, and now, reading glasses on my face, I’m watching my external Self age just as my internal Self is being born.

What irony.

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