I MSN-ed someone with “Sad”.
It is sad.
He asked, ” Why ler?”
Because I do not know I am 43 or 44 years. You see, previously, I have no problems giving my age as the next birthday’s age. When I am 40 years old + 1 day, I will say I am 41.
When I am 42 years and 364 days (which is today), I say I am 43 years.
But bawls!!!!!! Tomorrow, I do not know if I am going to tell people I am still 43 years or 44 years old. Because I am technically 43 years old + x number of days until I reach 7th September, 2008.
I don’t want to be a year older. I don’t want to be called ‘late fourties’. I don’t want to grow older. I don’t want my birthday. I have enough of white hairs. I don’t want my eyes to get much worse. I don’t want menopause.
Instead, I want to see male poledancer (nay Agnes suggest). I haven’t seen a male stripper before. I want a toyboy. I haven’t done bungee jumping. I want to take the world scariest roller coaster ride. I want to go parachuting. I want to do so many things. I want to go to India and do missionary works. I want to go to Jerusalem, the Holy Land. I want to …… dey, so many things I cannot finish listing.
Ok, enough of my rants. It is just a pre-birthday jitters. And don’t you dare wish me.