Meg's Blog

Secret Post

I am writing this from a secret location to which He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog and I have escaped in an effort to avoid any well-meaning but misguided attempts to “surprise” me with a party for my 40th birthday next week.

Warning to friends and relatives: Do not attempt to find me. I am not in Florida or in New York. I am not staying in a hotel and I am paying cash, so attempts to scan my credit card accounts or hotel guest sign-in logs will be futile.

Please don’t think I’m doing this because of I’m ashamed of turning forty, because nothing could be further from the truth. I think turning forty is cool. Plenty of awesome women did totally kickass things at the age of forty. I don’t have time to look up any right now, because where I am, I am paying for Internet access by the minute, and I have to get this posted and go before I’m spotted. I see some tweens coming out of the Gap and headed this way RIGHT NOW. I could be ID’d at any time. I HAVE TO HURRY.

I’m just saying I’m sure there are plenty of women who accomplished cool stuff at age 40. If you happen to have Internet access where you are, and you can find some accomplishments made by women who happened to be 40 at the time, please send them to me, and next time I hit some wi-fi, I will post them and give you credit.

And look, despite the fact that I’ve received plenty of email informing me that, “You’re so old! My GRANDMA is forty!” forty isn’t exactly even ancient. Look at Kirsten on The OC: She turned forty on Groundhog’s Day (the day after my birthday) on the episode that aired the other night, and proved you can still get yourself—oops, sorry, I don’t want to spoil it for our friends overseas who haven’t gotten to that episode yet.

But you get my gist. You still have to be careful, girls, EVEN AT FORTY!

But whatever, I’m just saying—I hate parties at any age. And 40th birthday parties are the worst–everyone seems to feel that its appropriate to buy black balloons and tombstones that say Over the Hill, and I’m sorry, but I’m just not in the mood for that.

I am not over the hill. I still watch MTV while I eat my colon-cleansing oatmeal in the morning. I know what’s going on with Degrassi. I can do push ups just like GI Jane—the real kind, not the lady, on-your-knees kind (not that I like to, but I can). I have not missed an episode of America’s Next Top Model yet. I have tops that are way cuter than those tops those tweens are wearing over there. And that guy they are flirting with over at Sunglass Hut? He was flirting with ME earlier, AND I got his number (hello, not that I plan on calling, I’m MARRIED).

I am so not over the hill.

And so, in light of all this, I have gone into hiding. Yes, I am serious. I’m on the lam until this forty thing blows over, and I will come out when it’s safe. Only a select few individuals know where I am, and they are sworn to secrecy.

To increase my anonymity, I have chosen to see out my thirties not in a fancy resort or foreign country or even a warm climate. No, I am right here in the good old U.S.A. In fact, there is a very good chance you might happen to see me on your street, or in your local mall or eatery.

In which case I ask that you keep the information to yourself. Yes, it is possible that I have could sought refuge in YOUR town. I am, after all, somewhere in North America…and I won’t lie if captured—I’ll fess up and admit it’s me. All I ask is that you do not alert the authorities. Or my mother. I will come along peacefully.

But I won’t go home. You can’t make me.

Don’t worry about the cats. I left them in good hands. They are receiving round the clock care, and will be well looked after. I will return to them when my birthday—and the danger of possible surprise parties—is passed.

In the meantime, look out for periodic updates as I make my way to my final destination, a place so remote, so desolate, I call it the Fortress of Solitude—no, the REAL one…a place where sensible people know forty for what it really is:

Halfway to perfection.

And remember, if you spot me—SHHHHH! Mum’s the word.

Gotta go. Mall cop coming this way. RUN!

More later.

Much love,