I am turning thirty-five in a few months. That means I'm older than Britney Spears, thank God, and still younger than Daniel Schorr.
Beloved Sister just got her cholesterol back from the lab. It's high, and her LDL and HDL suck, as she put it, dead rat. This makes me nervous, since Beloved Sis has much better lifestyle habits than I do. She doesn't work 14-hour days, doesn't drink to excess, doesn't eat Sonic. She also works out constantly and can donkey-press something like 700 pounds.
35 is the benchmark age for a lot of stuff. First mammogram if you have a first-degree relative with breast cancer, baseline cholesterol, aneurysm territory. It's osteoporosis risk and think about retirement funds, why don't you own a house and a working car time, oh you never had kids, risk of thus-and-so jumps mightily. You're more likely to get hit by a bolt of lightning than marry a terrorist, Toyota Scions are too young for you and the Mini is pushing it, why don't you get an Accord?
However, it's okay to like Garrison Keillor. You don't have to wear neon colors. Blue eyeshadow is beyond the pale, and nobody expects you to be really, really skinny and flat-chested. Long narrow skirts are acceptable. You get very strong in your thirties, and 35 is when you can show off your amazing biceps and deltoids. Coffee becomes a way of life rather than just a beverage. Drinking no longer carries with it the fear of hangovers, and nobody looks at you funny if you say you like Scotch, neat. You become much more interesting than a 20-year-old.
Still, I won't be a healthy forty-five year old unless I find out what my cholesterol levels are and start exercising again. *sigh* Time to forgo the donuts and start the cardiovascular workouts again.