Happy 50th birthday to Captain!

I’m getting used to 42. For devoted readers of my blog or readers who have been with me since my bartending days, you may remember a bar regular whose code name was Old Guy.

I was 27 when I came up with that gem and you guessed it, he was 42.

I would not take kindly to being called Old Gal or Old anything. Even if many days I feel ancient compared to 27.

I spent an inordinate amount of time googling “Brat.” If Vice President Harris IS Brat, then I want to have a Brat summer too. Or at least understand what heck is going on and why we’re wearing green.

Don’t get me started on no-show socks.

I also wish I could have a word with Past Jessica. When 27-year-old Jessica casually lumped all people over 40 into “Old,” she was oblivious to her own march through time.

The morning of Captain’s birthday RB exclaimed,

“We got you a cake but we’re not supposed to tell you about it!”

Right.

As Captain blew out his candles, the kids shouted,

“Are you one? Are you two? Are you three? …”

Which is great if you’re under twenty.

“Are you eleven? Are you twelve?…”

I interrupt,

“How about you go by tens?”

“Are you twenty? Are you thirty? Are you forty? Are you FIFTY?!”

Current Jessica feels very youthful next to a 50-year-old. And if Captain thought he could forget for a minute how old he’s turning, no luck because I bought a fair amount of 50th birthday accoutrement.

Eight years is a long time to save it, but as I have learned, my time will come. If I’m lucky.