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You know you're getting old when you start receiving AARP pamphlets in the mail, but there's something special about hitting the big 5-0. It's like reaching the summit of Mount Adulting, only to realize that the view is mostly gray hair and back pain. I recently turned 50, and let me tell you, it's not like fine wine; it doesn't get better with age. I used to be excited about birthdays, but now I'm just excited if I can remember where I left my glasses.
At 50, people expect you to be all wise and sophisticated, dispensing life advice like a discount Yoda. But the only wisdom I've gained is knowing which side of the pillow stays cool at night. And let's be honest, that's a skill worth celebrating!
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Turning 50 comes with its own special menu of midlife crisis options. Suddenly, you're contemplating buying a sports car that's more expensive than your college education, or worse, joining a rock band and reliving your teenage dreams. I considered getting a tattoo to prove I'm still edgy, but then I remembered I can't commit to a Netflix series, let alone a permanent ink design. So, instead, I settled for a new wardrobe, hoping that dressing like a teenager would make me feel younger.
Now, I'm the proud owner of skinny jeans that I can only wear while lying down and a leather jacket that makes me look more like a wannabe superhero than a cool rebel.
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You ever notice how birthday cards for 50-year-olds are like mini-roasts disguised as well wishes? They're basically saying, "Congratulations on surviving half a century; here's a card that reminds you that you're one foot in the grave." I got a card that said, "50 and fabulous!" Really? Fabulous? More like 50 and frantically searching for my car keys. There's nothing fabulous about that.
And the jokes on those cards are like dad jokes on steroids. "You know you're 50 when your back goes out more than you do!" Hilarious, except when it's painfully accurate.
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At 50, suddenly everyone becomes a fitness expert. "You should start running marathons!" they say. Yeah, right. The only marathon I'm running is a Netflix marathon. And don't get me started on the gym. I went to a fitness class, and the instructor said, "We're going to do burpees." I thought burpees were the sound my stomach makes after I eat Mexican food. Turns out, they're a form of torture disguised as exercise.
But the real challenge is convincing yourself that the creaks and cracks in your joints are just your body's way of applauding your efforts. "No, knees, it's not a standing ovation. It's just me trying to stand up.
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