A Room-breaking Reprobate in Old Age

For any of you who might have noticed that I have not blogged in about a month, I will tell you why.  I turned 40 last week.
It's been a difficult birthday for me, and I can't even tell you the reason.  I have a lovely life, and I have no reason to be despondent or regretful about anything. So I'm not.  But this number really got to me for some reason.  My time on this planet is limited, and I have officially left youth behind.

Honestly, now that the birthday is behind me, I'm fine.  But I am exhausted from the last 6-12 months of swinging emotions.  There is much I could say about those emotions, but I don't feel like saying any of it.  I'm going to tell you a story instead.  This was my "welcome to 40."

My best friend and I went out of town on an overnight shopping trip.  We do this about once or twice per year, but this one was 6 days before my 40th.  We love our “girls’ weekend,” as we call it, and it does much for maintaining our sanity.  The hotel had us on the fifth floor, in room 521.  After breakfast, we got on the elevator to go back to the room.  We were deep in discussion about someone we saw at breakfast.  I was speculating, as writers are wont to do, about his life.  And then, as my friend and I are wont to do, we went off on a tangent and made up a wild, funny story that had absolutely nothing to do with the man at breakfast.

We got off the elevator, semi-whispering and laughing, and walked to the door.  I tried my key, but it didn’t work.  “I’ve got mine,” my friend said.

“No, that’s okay,” I answered.  “Mine worked yesterday.”  I tried again and again, to no avail.  I wiped the card on my shirttail to make sure it was clean.  “Maybe it’s demagnetized,” I guessed.  Again and again, I swiped it.  Again and again, it gave me the red light instead of the green one.

Finally, my best friend said, “Oh, that’s why!”  I looked up.  She was pointing at the placard on the wall.  I was trying to break into Room 221, not 521.  Oh. How. Embarrassing.  No explanation for this but our AGE.  Nevermind that we are both blondes.

My friend said, "We can't tell anybody we did this."

And I replied, "Except my blog."  So, I started laughing at the middle-aged flightiness of accidentally trying to get into the wrong room.  And thus my attitude turned, unexpectedly and inexplicably.  I had a delightful birthday.