A day after Rebeccamas and my holiday booty consists of a giant tree, a massive handbag and an insane stack of books -- which is great because my ass looks pretty small in comparison.

Also, I turned 35 yesterday (which is why it's Rebeccamas). A few who gave birthday wishes made it a point to tell me I still look young, which is very sweet and the thing one does when a friend reaches such milestones. But I should point out that I'm fine being a little older. I have no nostalgia for my 20's, do not fear my 40's and am quite OK to assume a few wrinkles and gray hair. I am not a model or an actor, my livelihood does not depend on my looking forever 25. I don't want to be friends with Britney, Paris and Lindsay -- I want to mother them. I want to buy them cotton underwear that cover their cheeks, not slide between.

One of my older (ha) gentleman friends suggested that soon I'll be wearing mini-skirts showing the world I still got it. With this ass? I don't think so. Trust me, I don't need to let it all hang out to remind you what I got in this trunk.

My middle-aged meltdowns will take a quite different direction. Stay tuned.