Our Forties Are for Falling Apart

The era we break due to a strong wind or a fart

This is the attitude you need to make it through life. Image by lookstudio on Freepik

They say 40 is the new 30. But I’ve never agreed with ‘they’ anyway. I turned 40 last year and my body fell apart quicker than a barn door in a tornado alley. I creak more than a barn door too.

I tried WD40, but it only left me greasier than a Costco pizza.

I can hear the sexa- and septuagenarians rolling their eyes and saying, ‘Just wait’. Ugh, no thanks — I already snap, crackle, and pop more than Rice Krispies, which is one of the few foods left that doesn’t give me enough heartburn to kill a warthog. Leave me to my millennial existentialist aging crisis.

Anyhoo, here’s a lil ditty for anyone who’s feeling older than a tubeworm.

---

*Ahem.

Oh how I long for the days I was naturally tight and svelte
I just got body confident, but now it’s beginning to melt
My body’s a toothpaste tube someone squeezed from the top
it’s toe-up-from-the-flo’-up with parts gone flippity flop

If your birth year starts with a 2 then we can’t be friends
come talk to me when you ‘literally’ depend on Depends
You go out at 9:30 but I’m already washed up for bed
You’re cutting up the dance floor, I’m cutting up bread

The only clubbing I’m doing now is at Sam’s Club
I don’t go out late enough to make it to the pub
I used to pop ecstasy tabs, now I’m popping ibuprofen
You’re popping-and-locking, I’m popping and broken

If I dare leave the house past 7 o-clock
I need a ‘going-out nap’ in my fav smock
After an hour of being out, I need to decompress
Getting older requires charging to convalesce

Sigh, the dating pool in your 40s is only a shallow end
If you find a unicorn it’s weird to call them a ‘boyfriend’
While admittedly the sex gets better, seriously, no cap
One-night stands are over cuz one of you needs a CPAP

I just figured out that I’m statistically half-dead
and can’t make it through the day without NSAID
I’m too old to be young, but too young to be old
I’m a 30-year-old that’s slightly covered in mould

I can tell you the fiber counts of all of your foods
I’ve an assortment of antacids to suit all your moods
Pocket Tums have become a necessary lifestyle
I spend the majority of my day taming my bile

Lately, my stomach has taken a real downturn
Suddenly even water can give me heartburn
a carbtacular meal is a guaranteed nap in the making
and anything spicy leaves my butthole utterly quaking

I’ve crates full of meds like stool softeners and hemorrhoid cream
alas, sadly, it takes a village of drugs to live the 40-year-old dream
I only have tennis balls for rolling my plantar fasciitis
and bands and rollers for my god-damned bursitis

I shower oft’ cuz I sweat like a damned chimney sweep
But take long baths because now my body needs to ‘steep’
I’ve tried every ‘youth serum’ yet no fountain of youth
The only thing it’s done is make my bank account uncouth

My boobsicles went from 36 B to 36 long
and granny panties have replaced my thong
I don’t have to wear bras anymore, yuck, no thanks
thankfully I can just tuck the tatas into my Spanx

I still have an hourglass figure, but the sands have shifted
and down towards my thighs, my ass has now drifted
I peed my pants sneezing n’ broke my back wheezing
I’m a fart away from paralysis or full-body seizing

My poor ole body is decidedly tired of just existing and being
The only time I don’t have to pee is when I’m already peeing
phrases like ‘Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin’
took a horribly, hairedly, errantly entirely new spin

I thought I’d have my shit together, surprise — I don’t
alas, I tried to regress but life told me it won’t
this is the first time I’ve been 40 — I don’t know how to act
but I’m stuck in this stubbornly linear, chronological pact

I thought my wardrobe would suddenly turn fancy n’ posh
but it has been mainly regressing back to OshKosh B’gosh
suddenly all my shoes are now for comfort and not height
I wear yoga pants perpetually like it’s my damned birthright

I still have favorite brands, but now it's not fashion
now toilet paper brands are my sudden new passion
gone are the days when I’d dream of bags in Gucci
now my tastes are responsibly blue-collar boujee

Being 40 is weird and at times fills me with dread
but at the end of the day is better than being dead
hopefully, by my 50s, I’ll have my shit together
or maybe I’ll just be holding onto — my very last tether

---