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).Continue reading “I’m 40 now and the fucks are flying”