As February approached, I began doing maths on a regular basis. Surely I’d miscounted and I was still only 31 years old, barely into my 30′s. This wasn’t all denial, I often forget how old I am and have to think about it. One of these days I’ll get the math so wrong it will say I’m 22 years old *fist pump*. Of course to get it that wrong I will probably be bordering on senility and getting around in a delightful combo of denim underwear and a twinsy, so naturally I’ll fit right in with the young’ns.
According to my mother, I turned 35 this last week. Bit hard to argue with her, I mean, she would know.
What does a suddenly mature lass wish for her birthday gifts?
- A garment steamer (Received. Check!)
- A popcorn maker (Received. Check!)
- Dinner at a restaurant (Received. Sizzler counts. Check!)
- A makeover (Donated by self. Check!)
Here are the before/after shots to prove it, as my pal says quite often “pics or it didn’t happen”.
It just felt wrong to be a 35 year old woman who wore a pony tail every single day. I’ve joined the ranks of middle aged women who people refer to as ma’am, that lady, and mrs. Next time at the hair dresser though I’m going to get my blondish foils turned purple, because I may be old, but I’m still cool.
This post has been brought to you by the numbers 3 and 5. For posts that aren’t about me, head on over to Jess’ IBOT linky.
What prompts your makeovers?