Today I turn 41. I don’t feel any excitement or disappointment in 41, it is what it is. But, I remember the first time I did feel old, it was not the last, but of course your first is always the most memorable. It was the summer of 2007; I was only thirty-four, just months before I turned thirty five. It was an extremely hot day and I was outside with my best friend Ann Dee and her family. It was the day of her dad’s funeral and burial. It was an old family plot, mostly dust and sand, and the family was responsible for digging the grave. I’m not sure when the miscalculations took place, but when it was time to lower the coffin into the ground, it didn’t fit. So, as you could imagine, it was uncomfortably funny and the coffin had to be pulled out and more dirt dug out of the tight space. Again, it was an extremely hot day and while we waited for what seemed like an eternity for a proper goodbye, I was standing by Ann Dee supporting her in her time of need. That’s when it happened — I felt a bead of sweat slowly rolling down the back of my leg. It was a funeral, so I was wearing a skirt; it was summer time so I was not wearing tights, and obviously the skin on skin contact from my butt cheeks to my thigh was too much. That was the moment I knew I was getting old.