Let's break this one down, shall we?
Tough. Okay. I like that one. Formidable. Solid. Knock me down and I get right back up. When the twins were born, my mother began referring to me as 'The General'. Keeping two infant boys in line required order and discipline. Admirable qualities.
Broad. Some might find it offensive, or perhaps just archaic. Something Humphrey Bogart would utter about a co-star at the close of a difficult scene in a North African desert. It has a certain heft to it, indicating a modicum of respect or street cred, certainly less objectified than 'dame' or 'chick'. All in all, I don't mind it.
Now, I've had to really think about the other adjective and struggle not to take it out of context.
Old. Surely, my husband didn't mean to imply that I am turning a corner at this upcoming birthday. (I thought that was reserved for the next one.) Perhaps what he really said was ole, which I could construe to believe is really rather charming...like Ye Ole Sweets Shoppe on a storefront in a quaint English village.
Then again, 'old' is, well, old. Old, as in, the arthritic twinges I'm starting to feel, the great pleasure of an early bedtime, and shaking my fist at those darn kids speeding up and down our street.
But, let me tell you what old really is. It's knowing what's important and what isn't. It's knowing the things you can change and accepting the things you can't. Old is reveling in being able to look my children in the eyes without bending down or picking them up. Old is the comfort of lying in bed beside my husband for over twenty years worth of nights. And finally, old is being able to add on another birthday, when I wasn't so sure last year if I'd be able to. Old is good.
And to celebrate its goodness, tomorrow this Tough Old Broad is flying out solo to visit her BFF for five glorious days. (Don't worry, Paul. I think the gynecological oncologist removed the remaining wild oats I might have sown...wink, wink.)
