Fifty

This year I turned 50 which as milestones go is moderately significant. Not as important as having your child graduate college (with a job) but slightly better than your first Holy Communion. I believe it's the number that is impressive. Half of one hundred can slap you to attention no matter how much denial you cultivated. It's a little like a gaggle of your friends dragging you to karaoke night at the local Ramada. You go there kicking and screaming, but before you know it you're sipping Tequila Sunrises and belting out "Love Shack."
I'm told by all those who now hold a secured place in my will that I don't look 50, although I'm not sure what 50 is supposed to look like. Is there a poster somewhere pointing out features that I'm should be carrying? Coloring my hair helps immeasurably. If the gray was coming in in hip highlighted steaks (think Rogue in X-Men II) that would be dandy. My gray is coming in all random googly blotches. Think Stevie Wonder with a silver paintball gun aimed at my head. So, coloring every 3 months and dabbing at my roots every 5 weeks is a part of my glamour routine. I don't mind. It's one of the few times donning latex gloves can be used for good and not evil.