I’m 40 now and the fucks are flying

According to approximately everyone, turning 40 is the shit. And by ‘everyone,’ I mean everyone over 40. This is the decade where my remaining fucks will slide off me like so much water off a duck’s back. No longer will I worry about what other people think, fret over trivial things I can’t control, or obsess over my looks.

Snarky comment from a mom at the school’s Parent Night? Zero fucks given.

Cut off by a 20 something on her way to SoulCycle? Nope. No fucks.

Arm severed by a rogue grizzly bear mistaking it for honey-flavored taffy? Nulla daretur fucks. (That’s ‘zero fucks given’ in Latin).

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