Today is my birthday. (No fooling, it really is.) It is also the day I come clean to the world about something I’ve been hiding.
Back in 2012, when I finally decided to take this whole writing erotica thing seriously, I gave myself a pen name, for anonymity’s sake. To keep extra inconspicuous, I also changed my birth date. I mean, April 1st is kind of memorable, and back then, even my best friends didn’t know I wrote smut.
So, Oleander’s birthday became June 9. (6/9, great gag, huh?) Then, for some reason, I also changed the year to make myself younger. Nine years younger.
I don’t remember (Because I am old, yo.) but it might have been a mathematical error, or a mental Freudian slip of sorts – like maybe I felt I could pull off a nine-year age difference, but certainly not ten because that was going too damn far.
I realize some of you might be shocked by this. Or none of you. But, I know for sure there is at least one of you reading this and thinking “Bloody hell! She’s how old?” (Surprise!)
Lying about my age made me feel dirty, and I may have liked that more than a little bit, but it still doesn’t excuse my untruthiness. (See, that’s another thing old people do, we make up words.) Quite frankly, I feel terrible about it. Actually, I’m surprised I kept the charade going for so long because I have no poker face whatsoever. In fact, lies make me break out in hives.
So why lie in the first place?
Women my age tend to get put in a corner. (I get it, Hillary Clinton, I totally get it. No one wants to listen to me, either.) If you’re not young and vital with a perky rack, you’re a nobody. (Unless you’re Meryl Streep and then the world is your oyster, probably.)
Also, I fucking hate getting older. I wear tri-focals. I have wrinkles. I have a muffin top …
No. Wait. Make that a muffin army. I have a muffin army. Parts of me creak when I stand up, and other parts insist on succumbing to gravity no matter how much collagen I dump into my morning smoothie.
Getting old sucks ass, people.
Then again, some parts of aging totally rock. The burgeoning self-confidence? Nice. The senior discount? Gimme. The extra wisdom? Yes, please, especially wisdom that slaps you in the face and makes you realize that, by lying about your age, you are only perpetuating the stereotype that youth is king and older people deserve to be banished to Florida.
Which is why that nonsense stops now.
I’m 53 today. Bring on the cake.
Because this muffin army isn’t going to feed itself.