infunicular

By natroberton

SO

This year is the year of 40.

Somehow becoming thirty seemed much less obvious. But it seems that there are a number of us now suddenly forty. It was Andrew's turn today.

Wary, uncertain, half-expecting some kind of cliched disintegration into a state of high-waisted middledom. Sporting a leather jacket, with sleeves rolled, and a phone upon the hip. Fearful of the loss of our very selves.

The kids enjoyed the cake. We enjoyed the beer.

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