Gravity Really Is a Son of a B*tch

Being in your 40s is actually pretty awesome. There is a freedom that comes in knowing who you are combined with not giving so many shits about what people think. I would have never worn Space Kitten tights in my 30s for fear of judgment but my 40-year-old self is all, “Screw it. Wear the damn tights.” Physically, I’m in the best shape of my life and I can only imagine the levels I would improve if I gave up wine.

However, I will say leaving your 40s is much different than entering your 40s. I see it in my friends, and they see it in me. It’s not the wrinkles or the extra weight that gets harder and harder to remove, it’s the looseness of, well, everything.

It’s like Madame Tussaud made a wax statue of us as 30-somethings but as a finishing touch, she took a blow dryer to it. We are a slightly droopier version of our former selves. There’s a looseness to the jawline that was never there before, my neck has developed layers, and when I peer over my glasses and squint my eyes to read any small print instructions that seem to be getting smaller every year, three chins appear.

So I will give you this warning in advance… take this advice from someone who made the mistake of doing it. Never, ever, ever, decide it’s a good idea to lean forward and look into a mirror. There are some things you just can’t unsee.

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