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as if

A friend tells of an incident a few years back, well, several years back when, while out for lunch with an older supervisor, a group of men catcalled her. She groaned and steadily walked on as her amused supervisor foretold of a time when those catcalls and whistles would come to an end. “Fat chance,” the twenty-something thought to herself, “I’ll always be hot.”

Fast forward a certain number of years later, the former twenty-something-newly-converted-soccer-mom-wife can say, without batting a lash, those catcalls are not missed. Not one bit. 

However, each time that damned bag boy calls her “M’am” or when a twenty-something refers to her as “lady,” — yea, those are the moments when 40-something feels somewhat closer to the end of the road.

Being 40? Not so hot.

Lukewarm. 

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