Well, another year has passed and another birthday has crept upon me.
Birthdays at my age are not so much a celebration as they are a sigh of relief, as in "I made it through another year." This last year has not been a piece of (birthday) cake. Two weddings, a hip replacement, and dealing with a menopausal mate have multiplied my wrinkles and doubled up my use of Lady Clairol.
Anymore, I don't measure birthdays by years. I measure them by how far my breasts have drooped. I even have a special ruler to keep track of their fall from grace.
Do you think there's a market for such a thing?