I ran to the door eagerly. My package had arrived!

I opened the door, scooped up the box, and rushed inside like a kid on Christmas morning. This wasn’t just any delivery — it was the outfit for my big 4-0 birthday party.

I tore into the box and pulled out the dress. It looked exactly like it did online: bright, bold, multicoloured, and unapologetically form-fitting. 

I dug deeper into the box — there was more. A shoebox. I opened it slowly. Inside there was a pair of sleek black three-inch stilettos. They were stunning! Slightly dangerous but I loved them.

My friend had come over to share in the excitement. So I grabbed everything and ran to the bathroom to try it all on.

The dress slid on… eventually. It was a little snug’ but I squeezed myself into it. 

I leaned against the counter to strap on the heels. Then I stood up and immediately wobbled.

Not a cute wobble.  It was a “newborn giraffe taking its first steps” wobble. I clutched the wall like it was life support, taking slow, uncertain steps.

That’s when it hit me — I hadn’t worn heels in years. Still, I soldiered on, gripping the wall as I made my way toward my friend. 

Her smile went limp. “Sooo… how do you like it?” she asked.

Slowly, I turned toward the full-length mirror behind me.

The truth was I was very uncomfortable and it was obvious. The dress wasn't “snug,” it was suffocating. And the stilettos made me look like I was one step away from a medical emergency.

My friend walked over and checked the tag.

“Sue, you ordered a size six?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“Yeah, it said ‘form-fitting,’” I said in denial. The truth was I hadn’t been a size six in years. “I don't know what I was thinking.”

She paused, then looked at me with a mix of honesty and kindness. “I think you were shopping for your 25-year-old self.”

I exhaled. She wasn’t wrong.

“Look,” she said as she placed her hands on my shoulders, “you still look great… for a 40-year-old woman. Think of it as celebrating your 15th annual 25th birthday! Now take those heels off before you fall and break a hip.”

We both burst out laughing. And just like that, the pressure lifted.

We went to the mall and found a beautiful, bright, flowy dress. I paired it with comfortable wedges that didn’t require a safety plan to walk in. That night, I got a lot of compliments. Not because I looked like I was 25 again — but because I looked confident, comfortable, and completely myself.

Here’s the thing about aging: it’s not about trying to fit into who you used to be. It’s about finally understanding who you are — and dressing, walking, and living like it.

No one is getting younger (unless you’re Benjamin Button – and if you don’t get that movie reference this column might not be for you). But with age comes something better: clarity, confidence, and the freedom to stop performing for a version of ourselves that no longer exists.

Some things really do get better with age, like wine.

And most likely, so will you.