[Sunday Scribblings' has its 200th post this week. Dang, but that's a lot. More than a half-year of Sundays. See how others mark their Milestone. Mine relates to being a woman, so, overly shy men might want to steer clear. And you overly not shy men will kindly do the same.]
At the tender age of 9, I shaved my legs for the first time. I remember asking my oldest brother, Norm, to feel how smooth my leg was. We were headed to the beach, and I remember my mom turning around in the front seat to smile at me.
At the age of 12, I got my period for the first time. My mom was annoyed that I hadn't told her earlier in the day so she could have shopped for supplies.
At the age of 14, I went on my first "date," to the Catholic school dance my friend's older brother attended. Mostly, I remember how much I sweated in my green polyester blouse.
At the age of 16, I started dating the first love of my life. I would be head-over-heels for him for a couple of years, and I would pine after him for twice after we broke up.
Days shy of my 19th birthday, I lost my virginity to a construction worker who frequented the 7-11 I toiled in during the summer before my sophomore year of college.
At 31, I married.
At 34, I left him and found the true love of my life (who speaks with such a lovely accent).
At 35, I had my first child.
At 36, I had my second child.
At 40, I had my last child. And made sure he would be my last. As we are fond of saying around these here parts, "He would have been our last child whether he was born first or second or third." He's that kind of kid.
Nearing 50, I can finally say I am a REAL woman, as evidenced by these:
Yes, I am the proud owner of the best measuring spoons and measuring cups ever. I can die a complete woman.
[Thanks to my always-a-real-woman sister, Virginia, and her husband Tom for essentially outfitting our entire kitchen for Christmas.]