Well, it's finally happened.
I first got concerned about yesterday ten full years ago, the day after my 30th birthday, when I realised that the next big one was my 40th.
But ten years seemed like a long time, and it all seemed so far into the distance that I shrugged off my worries, and carried on.
A decade, I'm afraid to say, isn't actually that long of a time after all. For it's been and gone and I'm forty. Forty years old.
It's a bit confusing, because I cannot understand how I got from being sixteen to here, in what feels like about ten years. But I'd been warned, and I am brave, and actually I don't mind turning forty.
Why not, you might wonder.
It's because, actually, there's loads of advantages to turning forty.
I'll give you a few examples.
At forty, I can say to my much younger friends and colleagues, the ones in their twenties especially,
"I am old and wise, and you should listen to me". They don't take any notice of me of course, but most of them feel so sorry for me for being old that they pretend to listen. And then I get to blather on to a rapt-ish audience.
Because we're now in our forties, and have been together for more than half our lives, His Nibs and I have found a nice little groove where we're so used to each other we can have small or massive rows or drive each other absolutely bonkers, and know that it's fine, we've done it all before, there's no need for a drama.
In our twenties (and for part of our early thirties, if I'm honest) we got into the habit of the dramatic row, where we found ourselves both packing our bags, arguing about who was leaving, racing to get to the car first.
I'm glad that's all behind us.
On a similar note, on the odd occasion that I get out, in makeup and maybe heels, and go to the pub at night time, I can have a good look around at all the boys, and wonder whether some lovely lad over in the corner could be persuaded to run away with me.
Then just when I think it must be almost time to go home, the pub suddenly fills up with fabulous gorgeous young women in five inch heels, and what looks like just their knickers, and I realise my days of trying to tempt boys are over, and I can go and get a bag of chips and be in bed beside a snoring His Nibs before midnight, and before I make a fool of myself.
It's a lovely feeling, as it happens.
But what have I learned, over my four decades? What pearls of wisdom have come to the surface?
Well quite a few things, actually. And it's taken me forty years to learn some surprisingly simple lessons.
I may as well use this auspicious occasion to list a few.
Tears are a last resort, not a first one. Young ladies, listen to me, for I am old and wise.
I overplayed my hand on this one, early in my co-habitation with His Nibs, and in doing so lost my pride, my power and my dignity.
I've given up with the waterworks now. These days, I just go bonkers and mental and insane with temper. I find it's just as effective as tears. Unless I get so angry I start crying, which happens more often than I'd like.
Next, one of life's most important lessons, in my opinion. I wasted all of my teenage years, and a good proportion of my twenties, worrying about how I looked, and what people thought, and whether they were talking about my most recent weight gain, or whether I don't wear makeup often enough.
I used to hiss at poor His Nibs if we were having a spot of bother in public. God forbid that anyone might think we weren't the happiest couple on earth.
And I used to make up excuses not to go out for lovely dinners, or go on spa days with my friends. God forbid , again, I just tell them I couldn't afford it.
At 40 though, I've realised that everybody is so worried about their own weight or their spot or the fact they haven't had sex for ages, or the fact that they've reached their overdraft limit before the middle of the month, that they honestly don't give a flying feck what's going on in my little world.
So now I just do what I like, and assume anyone that notices the things I used to worry about is a nosy fecker, like I am.
I've learned that it's nice to have a job, and at least to know there's a salary coming in at the end of the month, so you can pay the mortgage and not end up living under a bridge.
But if you find yourself worrying about what's happening at work when you wake up during the night, it's time to take a long hard look at yourself.
Basically, I've learned that actually everyone can't be an astronaut or a nuclear physicist, or the CEO of a multinational company. So chill out, do what you can while you're there, and then enjoy your time out of work.
I've learned that the myth that gel eyeliner is easy to apply if you buy the correct, expensive brush is a load of nonsense, and tomfoolery of the highest order.
I've learned that not everyone likes me, and that's okay. I used to try really hard, when I was very young, to be well liked. I gave it up. And funnily enough, I think the proportion of people who like or dislike me remains the same.
I've learned that cooking takes far more time than eating, and so is a waste of time.
It's good to finally be safe in the knowledge that I am a person who is limited in my abilities, and my focus. I now know that it's extremely unlikely that I'll ever run a marathon, or become a gym bunny, or get a Masters in English Literature. And that's okay.
No matter how much you want to live in a clean house, unless you live by yourself and go around the house in one of those white spacesuits that crime investigation people wear, it's not going to happen.
If you have to spend more than half the time you're in the house cleaning the fecking thing, then give up.
Either pay someone to clean your house, or accept a reasonable level of mess. It's just not worth it.
The older a woman gets, the more important her tweezers becomes. This is a not a happy lesson.
As a bit of an outsider in the world of children, I've learned that a small child is often the funniest and most clued in person in a room, and that they should always be carefully listened to.
I've learned that the posher, more important career wise, or glamorous person in my company, the more likely I am to fall over, spill food all over myself, or accidentally start swearing like a trooper.
But most of all, I've had a good long think for myself. I've realised that I had more fun in my twenties than in my teens. I had more adventures in my thirties than in my twenties. I can only assume that I'll have more fun and adventures in my forties than I've ever had before. So how bad can it be?
Bring it on, that's what I say.
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