DIANA REPUBLIC

Today is my 45th birthday.  This blog is my birthday present to me.

I have decided that 90 years seems like a respectable length of time to live (I’m sure it will seem less reasonable as I get closer to it).  That would put me smack at midlife right now.  And if I am not mistaken that entitles me to a crisis; the fun kind – the midlife crisis.  The problem is that I haven’t found an outlet for said crisis that appeals to me.

I can’t afford plastic surgery and if I could I’m not sure I want to look like one of those women who were left in the dryer too long.  The other anti-aging treatments leave me a little cold as well – I just can’t wrap my head around injecting a poison that could kill me if injested into my forehead.

Having an affair with the landscaper is another way to go.  Unfortunately, I love my husband and am far too lazy to contemplate an additional relationship. Way too much work.  That and the fact that none of the landscaping professionals in my neck of the woods resemble the cupcake from Desperate Housewives even slightly.

Women don’t go out and buy sports cars, do they?  Well I don’t (and that would require the plastic surgery money that I don’t have).

I have been kicking aroung the idea of a tatoo for a while now. Something tasteful or is that an oxymoron. But I am afraid that tattoos are, like, so over.  Everyone has them now and not everyone has earned them.  Should I get one, I guarantee you it will have been earned.  I could reasonably be entitled to a whole sleeve, but I did say tasteful.

So what does constitute a midlife crisis for a woman?