I never

thought I'd be old enough to see the hippie look

resurface as a fashion trend, or be asked if I had

television as a child.

"How

did you cook without a microwave, Mom?" my daughter

asked. "Over an open fire," I retorted.

I used to

love birthdays. Now I start to hyperventilate a week

before one comes around. At least I have plenty of

company. According to a recent article in Newsweek, there

are millions of us boomers postponing middle age.

Just look

around. Convertibles are more likely to be driven by

graying golfer-types than perky Barbie blondes. Men and

women over 40 commonly refer to everything from gourmet

bologna to their personal web site as "cool."

And prescription commercials on TV zero in on every

age-related deficiency, over-efficiency and irregularity

known to middle age man and woman.

If all it

takes is Senokot to make me burst into song and ace out

my tennis opponent, bring it on.

The

Newsweek story also indicated that today's over 40s will

not fall down and fail to get up without a fight. It used

to be the Peter Pan syndrome, when nobody wanted to grow

up. Now it's Mick Jagger and the "I don't want to

grow old" mania.

I was never

sensitive about my age until last week. But when my

financial consultant started talking about the pros and

cons of early retirement and I realized that Social

Security benefits were less than 20 years away, I

panicked. What happened to the last 20 years? His answer

was right on the money - kids, Cub Scouts, softball,

soccer, homework, etc.

"How

old are you going to be?" he asked. "Forty, um,

erhh, uh.' That second digit got lodged in my throat. I

needed a Heimlich maneuver to spit it out.

I whispered

it to myself and changed the subject. "How about

those Braves?" I sputtered.

I guess

it's time to face the music, I'm getting older and I've

got to take it like a woman. I think it's time for one of

those sleek red convertibles and some Clairol blonde.

Now that's

cool.

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