This year, 2008, all my friends and I turned 60 years old and the transition into senior-citizen-hood has been everything I've been told it would be and nothing at all like I expected. And if you're thinking I'm one of those young-at-heart, age-doesn't-matterit's what's-inside creetons, then think again.

Getting old stinks. I'm really surprised at myself in a way since I used to be such an optimist. Not anymore. I mean I still see the glass as halffull. I just can't help thinking it won't be long before my teeth are floating in it.

I used to be the one who always wanted to do 'the wild thing', take chances, live dangerously. I suppose I still do in a way. After all, making it from the bed to the bathroom in the middle of the dark night is pretty hazardous, especially when hubby has left the seat up.

It's depressing to wake up every morning and literally have to slither out of bed because if you stood upright at once, you'd collapse from the pain in your back and shooting down your legs.

I wonder, if you're only as old as you feel, how could I still be alive at 150?

When I look in the mirror first thing in the morning the skin on my face is thin with brown blotches that I swear weren't there the night before. My eyes are bloodshot and are beginning to sink down beneath my lower lids; they're giving up. And if facial wrinkles are simply "a chronicle of one's life," mine is longer than War and Peace.

I no longer have arms, I have wingspans.

And, did you know that when you get my age they no longer give you x-rays, they just hold you up to the light?

Well, back to my elderly friends. Seven of us who turned the big 6-0 this year decided to be adventurous and have a sleep-over, a pajama party if you please, on (you won't believe this) a 100 foot boat.

Lou Lee, the eldest of the crowd (she turned 60 in January) owns the boat and insisted it would be the perfect venue for staying up all night, renewing friendships, playing old tunes, and sharing Dramamine.

I couldn't possibly go, I told her.

First of all, I don't swim. I can't even tread water, and I have to take a nerve pill just to get in my tub. My bathing suit has a hole in the knee and, I was pretty certain, I was going to be sick that weekend. Still, nothing would do but we were going to spend the night on this boat.

My mother called, sounding distressed. "Will this boat be out on the lake?"

"I'm not sure, Mama," I told her. "I'll ask."

"Well," she continued, "you know if it comes up a cloud that's the last place you need to be, on a boat!"

"Okay, Mama," I said. "I'll remember that."

I'm sixty years old, I said to myself, and yet I felt like I was ten. No matter. It might just have been the excuse I needed to be assured I wouldn't get on the boat, fall asleep, roll off the boat, and drown before anyone missed me. (They never did miss Natalie Wood. Some dolphin threw her up on the ship, I think.)

I prayed for rain.

The weatherman didn't cooperate and the day of departure dawned without a cloud in the sky. I had packed a bag just in case, and filled it with all the essentials a girl soon to be 60 years old might need for a spend the night party. Flannel pajamas, a zip-loc bag filled with prescription and non-prescription meds, firstaid kit, ear plugs, cell phone, boiled peanuts, emergency numbers including that of the Lincoln County volunteer dive team, and my Bible.

All us girls met up in the parking lot at Savannah Lakes Marina...Diane, Deborah, Gail, Lindy, Faye, and of course, Lou and Yours Truly. I was thrilled to hear that the boat was tied securely to the boat slip and would remain there for the night. Actually, had I not known there was water surrounding the vessel I would never have guessed it. (There is a God, and though He walked on water, I was quite certain I could not.)

After a good amount of hugging, and moaning and groaning (like all old folks do), we slowly made our way to the dock. I, of course, stopped midway to take a Dramamine and to catch my breath. After all, it was at least 50 yards from the parking lot to the boat and no sense in taking a chance on having a heart attack or a stroke.

The boat, after we boarded and looked around, officially then became a yacht, a 100 foot long yacht, to be exact.

Never having taken a cruise, for all the above mentioned reasons, I was amazed at the size of this yacht. We were given a tour of the palatial pontoon and were amazed that it looked very much like a really big house, complete with fireplace, and plenty of indoor johnnys, as my grandma called them.

After munching down on every kind of junkfood imaginable, we feasted on a huge 60th birthday cake with the indomitable Madge gracing the top. Next came tunes....oldies....songs that actually sounded good and had words you could understand. It's My Party, The Lion Sleeps Tonight, Born to Lose, My Guy, and Big Girls Don't Cry.....songs that gave you a warm feeling inside and, unlike today's socalled music, didn't make you want to shoot somebody.

Supper on the deck of the hotel restaurant was another opportunity to reminisce and to see first-hand just why some of us have behinds the size of an over-stuffed sofa. We didn't dare talk about weight though; in fact, we ate like fish in a feeding frenzy, grabbing off of one another's plates to our merriment and the astonishment of a few of the other more refined patrons. Loads of fun!

Another painful trek down the hill to the yacht and it was relaxation time, aka Show & Tell. We caught up on the latest news in each of our families and shared a few tears of laughter and pain in the process. A gift exchange brought shrieks of laughter and not a few "maw-ti-fied" women!

Bedtime came early for Yours Truly as I fell asleep in the middle of the floor to the sounds of all the others talking and laughing. I'm told I was used as a coffee table for a good part of the night which would explain the peanut shells in my hair and pajama bottoms the next morning.

I can't tell you if any or all of the others stayed up all night but my guess is no.

My money says that none of them stayed asleep all night either, given that each of us has developed the habit of going to the bathroom several times a night. I vaguely remember passing Lou exiting the toilet as I was going in....sometime around 3 a.m. We nodded our greetings, mumbled something and moved on.

Old age is definitely not for sissies.

So it wasn't exactly like our pajama parties of old. So what. We had fun, none of had to be transported by ambulance anywhere, we didn't disturb the peace (well, I think the verdict may still be out on that one), and we all were present and accounted for the next morning at breakfast, a scrumptious egg and cheese casserole, I might add, made by Faye.

On the way home, I continued to reminisce, thinking of all the places we used to cruise, the side roads and forest glades where we used to "park" and I stopped, turned, and took a moment to circle through the current gathering place for today's younger crowd....the Turn Around.

Already the place was buzzing with activity, that God-awful music in the background. A few couples had already laid claim to beach and were snuggling sweetly. Ahh, to be young again. Then as I was leaving I noticed a scantily clothed and rather well-endowed young woman surrounded by maybe a half dozen young men who were ogling her.

A far cry from my day, I thought, when we wouldn't have dared expose so much skin in public, much less in the presence of the opposite sex. A little voice rose inside me (must have been the devil) and it was all I could do to keep from sticking my head out the window and yelling to her, "Listen honey, even the Roman Empire fell, and those things will, too!"

I kind of wish I had. I'll be 60 next month after all. I'm finally entitled to be a grump.