I didn't really try to sell a baby on Craigslist.

Here's what you need to know. I'm not asleep.

I don't know why. Maybe it's because I'm a middle-aged woman and everybody knows middle-aged women don't sleep. We are entirely too busy thinking of new ways we can sit in public to make our stomachs look flatter and our boobs look less like we are carrying Ziploc baggies full of tapioca in the front pockets of our mom jeans.

Middle-aged. Every time I say that word, I get mad. Not because I'm 45. I'm cool with that - mainly because it's not 46. But middle-aged? That's a constant reminder that statistically I'm as close to being on the other side of the dirt as I am to the moment I was dragged kicking and screaming ass-backwards from my Mother's down there.

Who decided that people in this particular part of our lives should be referred to in this way? My guess is Angelina Jolie or Glenn Beck or Hitler had something to do with it.

Or maybe it was some "beginning-aged" newborn with a chip on his shoulder. Babies are so selfish. It's always "feed me", "change me", "don't try to sell me on Craigslist 'cause that's wrong."

Or, in fairness, it could have been a group of rogue "ending-aged" people who were flat pissed off at us because they finally learned how to set the VCR to record Murder She Wrote, and we said, "Ha-Ha! Jokes on you, old people! We are taking away all the VCRs and selling them at garage sales for $3!"

Why can't I sleeeeeeeeeep?

Oh well. At least I know I can sleep when I'm dead - which according to them that know, will be in about 30 or 40 years....

Providing I don't run with scissors or get a lump in one of my Tapioca bags.