About 15 years ago, I broke my own heart. Singing every word to Sound of Music for the 100,376th time, I betrayed Young Celeste and cheered for the Baroness to win Captain von Trapp, instead of Maria and her dogged confidence. I gasped at my deceptive thoughts, checked my pulse, and discovered myself middle-aged.
Supposing middle-aged adults to be 40 to 60 years old, my tock is TICKING!!! My birthday cake in May buckled under the weight of 59 candles. In the last couple of years, I’ve had my cataracts removed, and Blue Cross paid for blepharoplasty. Therefore, I see a few of my favorite things differently now.
Celeste King Conner Mr. Rochester locked his mentally ill wife in the attic and fell in love with Jane Eyre, the governess. I couldn’t be happier that Bertha, whom he married for her money, burned the house to the ground.
Beauty should never have danced with Beast. He kidnapped her father!!! The dance’ll get you every time. Ask Garth Brooks.
Ariel should never have kissed the boy. She should’ve obeyed King Triton and stayed in his protection under the sea, happily hoarding her thingamabobs. Speaking of Little Mermaid, last weekend, a childhood bestie (who is 11 days older) and I celebrated our five decades, plus nine years, at Sirens of the Deep mermaid camp at Weeki Wachee Springs State Park in Florida.
(Our journey is a long story and a good one. Invite me to dinner, if you want the whole rambling tale.) The circumstances that collided the birthdays with the w.
