Getting older and going to Confession

Today I got this birthday card from Cathy.

My birthday is coming up in a few days and while I don't think I'm all that afraid of getting older, I did take some time out today to dye my roots and ask my mother if 34 counts as middle-aged. So yes, apparently I have concerns.

But whatever, we are all on our way to the inevitable, what is important here is whether you have spent quality time sending someecards before you check out.

Why? Because you care enough to hit send. And because they rule. If you doubt, let me remind you of one of my favorites - You never pee on me anymore - or the one I sent Lindsay today - I believe I'm getting closer to God by spending a few weeks not eating M&M's.

Actually, the last time I remember observing Lenten sacrifice was around my first confession, when I stood outside our parish priest's office trying desperately to think of something I could talk about.

I believe I said I was impatient with my brother. Or didn't want to help do dishes. Both of which were surely true, I just don't if they were awful enough to warrant an official church confession.

What I remember most was my sense of this is bullshit but might impress them, the same sense I had when I raised my hand in third grade during a class discussion on the theme of Determination and told my teacher Ms. Jansen that I was DETERMINED to be the first female president.

Ms. Jansen exclaimed something along the lines of, "There we go, children! THAT is determination!" and I relaxed my hand and looked smug.

Yeah, that was a big lie.

A lie that I could have, in good faith, confessed to Father Nastold instead of making up some crap about dishes.

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