Simple math

You would think this would be simple enough. But... I think I've reached that point in my age when things just become a bit blurry.

For the last several months, when asked (or when it came up in conversation, which is surprisingly frequent), I've been saying I'm 38.

Today, as I reviewed all my lab work I had done recently, I noticed my birthdate of 1973. I suddenly realized I'm 37. Simple math? You'd think so. 

Someone please tell me why any woman would accidentally make herself a year older. I mean, don't most women around 29 (and holding) or 30-something start to lie about their age and accidentally make themselves just ever-so-slightly younger?

Age means very little to me. (Although, secretly, I take great joy in saying I'm 38... (well, 37) and hearing, "You're kidding! I thought you were 28 or 29!" in response.) I'm annoyed at all the plastic surgery and gimics to try to make you look and feel younger, because a) those things rarely work, and 2) there is something to be said about aging gracefully. And by "gracefully" I don't mean "the years have been kind" like you look younger than you are. I mean "gracefully" by accepting the "you" you are - lines, wrinkles, liver spots, varicose veins, spider veins, gray hair, stretch marks, saggy skin, floppy winglets, swollen ankles, wisdom and all - the good, the bad, and all the inbetween.  I look at older women (and men) and just love what I see in their faces. That, to me, is beauty. I reject whatever the world (specifically, Hollywood) says is beautiful. They (whoever "they" are) are wrong. Beauty is not looking youthfully plump. Besides, I find that the more people fight their age, the older they look.

So, all this to say, I'm 37, not 38. I don't feel any different. I'm just as happy being 37 as I was being 38. This just gives me an extra year to tell everyone I'm 38. Lucky me! I should celebrate.