When Sir Paul walked onto the stage last night, I lost my shit, and started screaming like a 16 year old.

Not proper behavior for a crusty 42 year old.

(Please, no confetti, that stuff is a pain in the ass to clean up after.)

If you squint really hard, you can see him.

I can’t think of a better birthday present than getting to see Sir Paul (3rd times a charm) for my birthday. Pretty fab. My only complaint is that T-shirt prices started at $40.

The rest of my birthday will be spent counting how many people post Happy Birthday to my timeline on Facebook, going out to lunch with Cheryl, and recuperating from last night. I might even have a few beers or something. My party with the family isn’t until the 28th, due to schedule conflicts. So no cake today.

As for getting older, I don’t mind it one bit. I like the grey in my hair, the starting of wrinkles on my face, the wisdom I have, and the fact that I can call people younger than me “dear.”

Ah yes, the early 40’s. I’m glad I made it.