It's my birthday, and I'll whine if I want to

I never see it coming, but it happens every year, around this time. It starts out as a “mood” and quickly escalates into an irritating “funk” as I get ready to turn another year older.

This time around I tried to convince myself it was because of the economy or the endless days of listening to political campaigns. Then I thought that I could be pre-menopausal and was losing my mind, just like my older sister said I would.

My youthfriend and I were having lunch and he was telling me a story that involved “an old guy.” I can honestly say that I don’t know how the story ended because after he described this “old guy” as being near the ripe old age of at least 50, I realized what my problem really is. It’s my birthday month and I’m backpedaling as fast as I can before I go headfirst over the hill.

No matter how young at heart or mind I may feel, my body lets me know that I’m not 30 anymore and that really irritates me.

This year when the kids and boyfriend started asking what I wanted for my birthday I was going to be specific. No more acting thrilled to get flannel pajamas or another pair of slippers. The next thing I know I’ll be unwrapping a purple flowered moo-moo like my mom used to wear.

The only problem was, I had no idea what I wanted, so I just sulked and pouted about turning another year older. Finally the boyfriend suggested that I ask for a day of pampering at a spa.

“A spa? What would I do all day at a spa?” I asked, sounding more and more like my mom every day.

They all pitched in and bought me a package deal, which includes a massage, facial, manicure, pedicure and hairdo. Either my family thinks I need some sprucing up or I’ve complained long enough about my aching back and sore feet that they decided to send me away. I’m not sure about this pampering business but just having four hours to do nothing, sounds pretty good.

I told Dad about my upcoming day at the spa and his only comment was that he was glad I was going to do something about my hair. I tried to tell him that I was trying to be trendy with a new do, but then again he’s still wearing polyester pants. I left him looking shocked when I told him how old I was going to be, probably because it reminds him of how old he must be by now.

I do have a few concerns about going to a spa and wonder if I will be able to stand someone massaging my back for an entire hour. What if I fall asleep and start drooling or worse yet, snoring?

The pedicure ought to be interesting. I had sworn off exposing my feet to nail techs after the last episode when I pulled my toes out of the bubbling water and the nice lady said “oh, bad feet.”

Trying to get ready for a relaxing day is becoming stressful. Maybe next year I’ll just ask for socks. Lots of socks.