You gotta believe me!

Well, here it is, folks. I've arrived at that ripe old age that no one believes you actually are when you're honest with them. I'm 39 years old. Not "39 and holding." Not "39 for the fifteenth time." Just plain old 39.

I shouldn't say "old", exactly. I don't feel "old" per se. I just kind of feel like I've grown into myself. I remember when I turned thirty, and my mother-in-law told me that she absolutely loved her thirties because she got a real sense of who she really was then. I wish I could tell her that I now know exactly what she meant.

Maybe next year, when I turn 40, I'll hold a "Hell, no! I won't go!" party, and protest passing that milestone. But for now, I'm 39 (really), and that's just fine with me.