I’ll be turning 40 in March, this has been a difficult thing for me to accept. Forty has always symbolized something I never wanted to be: old. please read that word with the appropriate amount of shuddering and nose crinkling I remember looking at the forty~something~year~old women of my youth and thinking they were looking at me with something that bordered on pity, mingled with contempt, and tinged with jealousy. And they looked frumpy. Looking back, I realize that was just my own youthful misperception of grown women. In reality, they weren’t paying me or my silliness any attention. As for looking dowdy, everyone in the 80s and 90s looked…