Am I playing the woman card when I say that I’m kind of excited that a woman stands a really good chance of being the 45th President of the United States? I don’t want a political debate on the merits of anyone in the race, please. We’ve had 44 men in the job. Let’s give this a chance.

Please use the open space below to share your first 50 words on the topic “45.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

8 thoughts on “45”

  1. I own 45 handbags & it takes me way longer than 45 minutes (from shower to makeup to putting the actual clothes on) to get ready to leave the house. Some would say women like me set the movement back a hundred years, but who died & left them in charge. I decide what kind of woman I’m going to be.

  2. We used to sing this old jingle: “45 cans of beer on the wall; 45 cans of beer….” Now, in some big cities and not so big, like those in whose midst I live, it might be sung: “45 beer-making breweries; 45 beer-makers….” The times they have changed. Actually if micro-brewers are counted, the number would be in multiples of 45. In a store five buildings away from my abode, previously occupied by a source for people to stock- up on decorations for parties, now those same people can stock up from the newest micro-brewery around. It’s 2016. We’ve come full- circle., pretty much. Just insert “barrels”. “45 barrels of beer on the wall; 45 barrels of beer….”

  3. 45: strangely, I loved being this age. I know that for anyone under the age of 40, this will sound strange. Most of us grow up with the big four oh looming on the horizon like the grim reaper. 40 is old. So why did I love being 45? Ah, that’s a long story.

  4. Tango Militaire

    We danced like dervishes, twirling in the high-ceilinged dining room
    while our mother sweated over steaming pots of tomatoes, green beans, corn
    and on the Emerson the 45’s spun, Dance with Me Henry, Tell Me A Story,
    Tango Militaire.

    We danced through rainy days, hot summer nights, the birth of a brother or sister,
    while the old Emerson played the soundtrack of our days
    and our youth spun out before us, a track yet undiscovered
    when the world was still ours to be conquered.

  5. Ah 45… I loved my forties. Free at last from a bad marriage. Free from the task of raising children. Free to be me finally. It was the grandest feeling. For truly the first time in my life I felt like a butterfly let loose. I think that was mostly due to being more mature and having a greater understanding at that point about life. I didn’t really feel “old” until I reached my seventies. My body truly began to behave as if it had aged particularly on my 77th birthday. Only because of the feelings my body experiences in terms of agility and discomfort do I wish I were 45 again. I can only say that time certainly picks up speed going downhill because it has flown by.

  6. When I loved in the city, it would take me around 45 minutes to walk to work. Now it only takes me about 20 minutes, and that’s if I’m going at a rather slow pace. I miss the extra time I would spend walking in the city. It was good exercise.

  7. As a woman who has worked many years in a so called man’s field I take exception to the term “Woma’s Card.” Maybe it’s because I didn’t need a card defining my gender to beat out male rivals for the position. I was deemed the most qualified, period. You asked am I not thrilled to have the prospect of a woman as Commander in Chief, absolutely – provided it is not based on gender but the most qualified.

  8. At 45, I was in the best physical shape I’d ever been in or have been in since. That was the mid-point in my multi-year run of spending five days a week in a top-flight sports medicine center with a personal trainer. It paid off big. I was active, cut, and strong. Now at 66 my shape is less Thor and more Falstaff. If I had one wish, I wouldn’t waste it on returning to that time or that physique. Could it be that knowledge that is keeping me from making use of my current gym membership? Or am I just lazy?

An open space for your story

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s