D

ear Shevy,

The best thing about turning 40 is that you can blame everything on a midlife crisis!

Wishing you a wonderful and wacky decade ?

Love,

Rivky

I look up from my birthday card. “Ha, ha,” I say to Rivky, sitting across from me at The Coffee Corner.

We’ve been celebrating each other’s birthdays together since we were in ninth grade, but a week ago, Rivky texted me: R we doing your bday this year, or just staying put with 39? She’d added a million different laughing emojis and I’d immediately sent back: Very funny. Y should I be ashamed to turn 40????

Now, sitting here in this neighborhood café, I’m regretting my bravado. A waiter’s just brought out a cake with sparklers to a beaming little girl across the room, and even though Rivky knows, after all these years of friendship, that I would absolutely kill her if she arranged something like that, I can’t help but look nervously over my shoulder every time the door to the kitchen swings open.

There’s an envelope tucked into the card, and I raise my eyebrow. “Rivky, a gift?”

And then I pull out a piece of paper, with curly purple print on a background of white lilies. This voucher entitles you to one therapy session with Laura Reiss, LMSW, specializing in women’s midlife issues.

“Women’s midlife—?!” I splutter. I ball the voucher in my fist. “Thank you very much, but I'm not about to have a midlife crisis.”

Rivky smirks at me as she takes a bite of her panini. “That’s what they all say, until it happens. You heard about Aviva Miller, from our high school class? Overnight, she decides she’s a foodie. Read a few blogs, and now she’s posting cooking shows online.

“And look at Bracha Feinberg. The day she turned 40, she quit her job as a school secretary and started a business selling hand-painted beaded jewelry. And Risa Goldschmidt—”

“Okay, okay!” I stab my salad. “How do you know all this, anyway?” It’s a stupid question; Rivky knows everything that goes on.

“The Turning 40 WhatsApp group. You haven’t heard about it? It’s amazing, we’re all supporting each other through our crises. Shev, you gotta join, it’s so cathartic to read about how everyone else is handling the big transition.”

I feel like screaming. “What big transition? Okay, there are insecure people in this world. That doesn’t mean that just because I happened to turn a round number this year, I suddenly need to reevaluate my life. As it happens, I’m perfectly fine with my life the way it is.”

Rivky takes the voucher from me and smooths it out. “You know, Laura Reiss is particularly helpful with dealing with repressed anxiety.”

“I do NOT have repressed anxiety!” I snarl. And then jump, as a chorus of Happy Birthdays suddenly erupts behind me. My eyes widen. “You didn’t!”

She chuckles and motions to the table behind me, where a family is singing to their grandfather. “Edgy, aren’t we? They do say hormones start to get off balance, once you hit—”

“Oh, be quiet.”

“Why is it that everyone feels entitled to comment on your emotional state once you turn 40?” I grumble to Zev later that night. He’s just presented me with a pair of pearl earrings — a perfectly beautiful gift, no hint of therapizing anywhere there, but I found myself fretting over what statement he was trying to make. Aren’t pearls supposed to be for old ladies?

Zev shrugs. “No one commented on my emotional state when it was my 40th.”

“Well, lucky you for being a man.” I hold the earrings up to my ears as I stare in my dresser mirror. Are those things on my forehead called laugh lines or wrinkles? I frown. “Every single woman who wished me happy birthday today felt a need to say something comforting about how I’m not that old, or, don’t worry, 40’s the new 30. Like, what does that even mean?”

“Hey, Leora said the same line today,” Zevy says. “She told me to wish you a happy birthday, and said that thing about it being the new 30.”

I stifle a groan. “Why’s your sister sending my birthday wishes through you?”

Zev pulls off his tie. “She wanted to discuss something about Bubby’s aide. Oh, and she also asked me to confirm that we’re hosting the Chanukah party this year. Apparently, it’s our turn.”

I roll my eyes. Men. “Of course it’s our turn. Leora did last year, Nechama did the year before, and Yossi and Esther hosted three years ago. That makes it our turn.”

“Ah. If you say so.”

I’m already posting on Zev’s family WhatsApp chat — as if Leora thinks I wouldn’t remember a thing like that! Looking forward to hosting the family party! What night are we doing?

I’ve barely had time to put my new earrings away in my jewelry box when I hear a ping. Leora’s responded: Oooh, guys, this year’s party will be the best ever!!! It’s Shevy’s big debut as a 40-year-old. Midlife-crisis gotta-prove-myself event here we come!! Hahahahaha. [Smirking emoji]