Dude, where’s my car?

What are women supposed to do when they have a mid-life crisis? The stereotypical male mid-life crisis usually involves a toupée, a Corvette, and dumping your wife for your 20-year-old secretary. What is the stereotypical female mid-life crisis? Or are we only allowed to have the Change, with its hot flashes and mood swings? Don’t need a hairpiece, can’t afford the car, but wouldn’t mind a 20-year-old toyboy so where do I sign up? I’ve been a very staid grup-like creature* (with the sneaker and t-shirt wardrobe but not the dough), and I think I will cut loose for my mid-life crisis. Time to break out the snowboard and get a piercing somewhere embarrassing.

Feeling a bit too old and creaky to do it right at this minute so perhaps the first order of business should be to put the body-as-temple to rights. Let’s see…how much time to erase decades of neglect? “Two weeks” doesn’t seem to be the right answer (too bad — I could make a fortune with that secret). “Two years” seems way too long — would be a shame for my crisis to be over before I ever got started. So let’s work on it until the big 4-2 in four months and see how we get on.

Yeah, let’s start on that. Tomorrow. Today we ate Tootsie Rolls for lunch and that would be bad foot to start off on.

(*if I have to explain the origin of grup to you, you’re not nearly geeky enough, my friend)

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