Who said 40 is the new 30? I wish it was me. It certainly is true that women in their 40s today bear no resemblance to women of previous generations. Think of those 19th century pioneer women who were tough and toothless and looked like Sitting Bull. They may have been dead before they even hit 40, but they could have easily whupped modern woman's Prada-clad ass. But I digress.

I raise this tedious old discussion point because a colleague of mine was recently bemoaning turning 40. "Dear Lord, " she exclaimed while examining her face a little too closely in a bathroom mirror, "It's all downhill from here. The boobs will go South, the face will become lined and saggy and baggy and age-spotty. I am all dried up. I'll go through menopause. My sex life will be over. I can't wear short skirts again. I'll have to start using Botox. No one will ever want me..." and so on and on.

Eff That.

It took 40 years to get to this point of self confident fabulousness and no one's raining on my parade, be-yotch.

OK, I admit we all have our days when the face looks like a saddlebag with eyes and a wedge sandal is sometimes the footwear choice over a spike heel, but one thing is for sure: Once you turn 40, something should start to settle in. You discover that you don't give a rat's ass what other people think anymore. I wear what I want and say what I think and sometimes I walk down the street like I own the joint. I still have insecurities but compared to the person I was at age 30 or God forbid, 20, I'm three times the woman now. I hate the expression "Living Out Loud" but it's the most accurate portrayal of how I feel right now. I want to beat my chest and make some noise. "Move your scrawny 20 something size 0 asses out of my way--Mama's coming!" Or something like that.

When you're in your 20s, you're in those college/post college salad days. You're poor, trying to find yourself, trying to work out your career path, trying to meet a mate. These are the times when you're on line at the grocery store and you realize you have only enough money to buy either the toilet paper or beer (and the beer always won out because other household products could be used as toilet paper). Unless you're an heiress, these are the slogging years.

Once in your 30s, you should have a career path in place, maybe a husband, maybe kids, maybe a divorce. You go to your high school reunion and feel reassured that everyone looks 50. You start to build some financial stability, maybe find job fulfillment, learn to drink a martini. But you're still carving things out.

Then 40. By now, you should have a satisfying career. A partner, husband or boytoy (or all of them). You can afford to buy cool electronics, have a regular facial, maybe own a little patch of grass that you call your own. You can now buy all the champagne and toilet paper you want, with change left over.

So as I conveyed this bright-eyed philosophy to my friend (still examining her pores like an esthetician at Elizabeth Arden), I felt I was paving a positive path for aging fabulosity. And at that moment, another friend, The Glamazon, joined the conversation to complain about turning 50.

When will these women learn? Oh well. More candy for me!