Going, going.....gone.

Hear that? That's the sound of my Christine's youth disappearing into the ether.

She's turning forty. Forty, you may or may not know, is latin for "older than dirt".

I've already left that watershed far behind, but I neither look or behave like a forty year old, so I tend to forget I've put in four decades. Call it premature Alzheimers....

Chris, on the other hand, has been mistaken as the older of the two of us ever since we met. Once, at the White Spot Restaurant, she was thought to be my mother. I was thrilled....Chris, not so much. Nobody believes she is younger than me, least of all me. I swear Christine was born a little old lady.

Chris has had prematurely grey hair for years (well BEFORE she met me, thank you) and she comes across as "mature" (her word, not mine). I refer to her as "Gamma", and, to her horror, friends also use that nickname. What's funny, though, is when she refers to herself as Gamma. Love it, love it!

We will be celebrating this major milestone in fine style, with good friends, laughter and food. Chris will get to act like the matriarch she was born to be, at least for a little while. It'll prepare her for life at Shady Pines.....I just know she's going to be a crotchety old battle axe, but I'll visit her every Sunday anyway.....

It'll be a far cry from the decidedly immature, bratty whiney behaviour she is displaying in the days before the big 4-0! Can I have one of my presents early? Just one? Can I have a hint? How many of my presents didn't come from an electronics store? Please? Just one?

I'm not sure she'll be pleasantly surprised by the case of Depends and the support hose.......