Categories > Cartoons > Daria > Daria Turns 40
Daria Turns 40
On her 40th birthday, Daria evaluates her life.
November 6, 2021
Daria Morgendorffer rolled over in bed and muttered to herself as she stretched and opened her eyes, “Happy f’in’ birthday.”
Glancing at the bedside clock, she saw it was 7:10 – an hour later than her usual waking time, but since it was Saturday, that hardly mattered. Still….
Daria forced herself out of bed, and after a visit to the bathroom staggered a bit into the kitchen of her house to make what passed for her usual breakfast: tea, half a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and as a birthday treat, one of the two chocolate cupcakes she’d bought two nights before.
As she puttered about getting breakfast, she glanced into the living room, and decided her place was neat enough and clean enough to put off doing cleaning until the next weekend. “House?” she muttered yet again. ‘I guess it meets the minimum definitions.’ She rarely thought of any place as home, not even this house where she had lived a number of years.
On the one hand, Daria owned the three-bedroom one car garage property outright – paid off because of the tiny percentage of her maternal grandmother’s fortune that she had inherited – less than half what her sister had gotten, never mind her mother and favorite aunt had inherited, who in turn got far less than her other aunt and her cousin. Still, it had purchased the tiny house in the upper-working class/lower middle-class suburb near Providence.
On the other hand, two of those bedrooms were 8x10 and the ‘master bedroom’12x12, with the rest of the house (kitchen with an area for a small table, living room) on a similar scale. The windowless bathroom in the center of house was small, the ‘half bath’ in the ‘master suite’ would have been almost too tiny to use for anyone larger than her old high school acquaintance Mack, and the attached garage would not accommodate a large SUV, as it also had the stairs leading down to the basement. There was, however, a small (8x6) utility room at the back of the garage, with the house’s backdoor between it and the kitchen.
Fortunately, Daria was still a rather slender 5 foot 3 (at least in her usual boots), and didn’t need a huge amount of space. She slept in the small middle bedroom – her double bed taking up much of the floor space. The master suite was her office, while the back bedroom served as the almost never used guest room. She was able to fix over the basement, and so her library and video collection mostly resided there, along with her meager exercise equipment, washer and dryer, and a small area set aside for a wine cellar.
Daria forced herself to change into sweats, gather the morning paper from the front stoop, and then head down to the basement for 30 minutes of exercise, with the basement speakers hooked into her computer and set to a FM local station that played what they called ‘new oldies’ – music from the ‘80’s to 2010.
As she worked out on the NordicTrack and waited for the timer to tell her when to quit, Daria considered her life.
In some ways, she could be seen, at least on the surface, to be successful.
She had wanted to be a writer. She had earned three degrees, and one of the two bachelor degrees had been the BFA in Creative Writing. She had published nine novels to date and was nearly finished with her tenth. On the other hand, none of those novels had sold well. Two thrillers, two sci-fi, and five what she had to admit were historical romances, and only three of those last five had sold over 10,000 copies each, and those just barely – none had reached 11,000. She was lucky she had a publisher who liked her writing, and was willing to publish novels that got decent reviews, even if they sometimes just covered the costs. Still, all had sold that first printing (eventually) and some the second – none had been bulk remaindered at least.
Knowing she would need a ‘day job’ to support her writing at least for a while, Daria had also earned BS and MS degrees, and had gotten a forensics job with the Providence Police back in 2006. She was now in charge of the forensics lab. Not the permanent career she had hoped for, but at least it was interesting, paid okay, and had decent benefits.
Glancing around the main room of the basement as she exercised, Daria had to admit that other than the shelves of books and videos, it was…utilitarian. There were very few personal touches in her house – a place she rarely referred to as ‘home.’ Sure, there were five of Jane’s paintings upstairs – one in the bedroom, one in the study, one in the entrance across from the front door, and two in the living room, but that was really it. No photos on the walls, no posters. The closest thing to personal decorations besides the paintings in the house were the montage of screen savers on one of her two computer screens (the other montage was of various science-based images, ranging from dinosaurs to astronomy images). There wasn’t even a wall clock upstairs and just a cheap one here in the cellar.
Daria’s weekend workouts were the only really hard workouts she did. Finished, she went upstairs to take a shower. She glanced at herself in the mirror over the sink – she still weighed less than 10 pounds more than she had when she had graduated high school, and she still didn’t have a grey hair – unlike her sister, who had been dying her hair for nearly 10 years. Being nude in the shower made her reflect on her love life, or rather the overall lack of one. Granted her 9th grade self had often wondered if she would die a virgin; she had not been that lacking. Between the ages of 18 and 36, she had had five lovers – three men and two women. Granted, the first had been a rather embarrassing one-night stand after a Halloween party the weekend before her 19th birthday. She had had too much to drink, but had known what she was doing – afterwards, she was just glad he had been sober enough to wear a condom.
The only relationship that had lasted longer than four months had been with Jane – from near the start of their Sophomore year through the end of their time as undergraduates. Towards the end, however, they had really just been affectionate snuggle partners, not often physical lovers. The last had been with one of the detectives she knew from work. They had just become actual lovers when he had been killed ‘in the line of duty.’ Since then, no opportunities had presented themselves, and she had not really gone looking.
Daria considered taking herself ‘in hand,’ but decided not to waste the hot water. She had the whole weekend, and might be in a more appropriate mood later.
Dressed in a clean if utilitarian outfit, Daria checked her email – birthday emails from her mother, Aunt Amy, and Jane, and ‘happy birthday’ greetings on Facebook from Jodie, Brittany, and Quinn. Jake had died a few years before, and Helen had retired two years before. She was still trying to settle into the rather nice retirement community just outside of Lawndale. Aunt Amy had just retired this past summer, and was travelling – the email had a photo of her and her current ‘companion’ (a twice divorced forty-something busty blonde) on the appropriate Isle of Lesbos.
Quinn, Jodie, and Brittany only sent birthday greetings. However the latter two were very good about keeping up their Facebook accounts, so Daria already knew of the exploits of their children (Jodie had two, Brittany three), husbands (both of whom Daria had only met at school reunions), and their work (Jodie was a stockbroker, Brittany worked part-time in a vitamin supplement store).
Daria rarely heard from Quinn directly; the two had ceased their warfare but had never grown close. Their mother kept the other posted. Quinn had never married, and was a fashion consultant for several upscale stores, two cable TV shows, and a talent agency, making sure their clients were always in the right fashion for their careers. Although Quinn never said anything about her preferences, Helen and Daria both noticed that Quinn was usually in the company of cute, compliant models, usually just above the legal age, sometimes male but usually female.
When Daria had entered Boston University for her master’s program, Jane had taken up an offer to move to New York with a group of BFAC grads to try and make it there. Jane was one of the few that succeeded, and she had also met and married just before she turned 30. She had two rambunctious boys and a moderately successful career – and since her husband was a slightly older investment banker (the fifth generation, no less), she had few financial problems.
Daria didn’t feel like editing what she had of that latest novel or starting anything new. Glancing at the time on her computer, she decided to read the morning paper and then indulge in her preferences. She took a glass of ice water and the paper into the ‘utility’ room. The sun was shining, so even if it was only in the 40s outside, it was warm enough in the sunlit room to sit with just a light jacket. She turned on the radio and set the volume low. She made sure she had the two scientific journals and the novel she was reading handy for after she finished the paper. She then carefully unwrapped the Cameroon-wrapped panatela, cut the end, and lit her first cigar of the day.
During the week, if she smoked at all, it was one cigar per evening. On Sundays, she usually limited herself to two. On lazy Saturdays like this, she indulged in both number and variety. After all, she was responsible to and for no one but herself. She avoided inhaling, and always at least cracked the window of what she more commonly thought of as the smoking room. Unlike her late father, she did not drink martinis or whiskey, although she often had a glass of wine or a beer with dinner, and sometimes had a glass of sherry, madeira, or even a liquor. Her last lover had introduced her to the habit, and she found she enjoyed the process of smoking, and enjoyed researching the various combinations of wrapper and other tobaccos.
When her cigar was finished, Daria kept reading to the end of her current chapter, and decided it was time for lunch. As usual, she ate light – a can of soup was sufficient. Checking her computer again, she saw there were no new emails or notifications – she had hoped Jane might respond to her return email, but no doubt the boys were keeping her busy.
Glancing around, Daria noted that the blinds were shut and the curtains closed. She therefore got a towel from the closet and laid in on her computer chair, fetched her favorite toys from her bedroom and the lube from the bathroom, and went to her favorite porn site for forty minutes of indulgence and three orgasms.
Feeling relaxed and a bit better, Daria cleaned up the office and her toys and dressed again, now in sweats. She spent an hour working on her next novel – to her private shame, it was yet another historical romance – she might despise the genre at times, but apparently it was what her muse was willing to create which would also sell.
Between her session with her toys and what she felt was a good writing session, Daria decided she deserved a reward. Opening the mid-sized humidor in the smoking room, she decided on one of the few really quality cheroots currently on the market. Despite the temptation of indulging on her birthday, she decided not to have a drink with it, instead again opting for ice water.
The cheroot was long finished, and Daria was nearing the end of the novel, when the unexpected sound of her doorbell made her look up. Seeing it was just after 4:00, Daria marked her place and went to see who was selling what at this time on a Saturday. She had out-argued enough missionaries of various types over the years that most proselytizers had learned to skip her house when they were canvasing, and of course it was the wrong time of year for girl scouts.
A glance through the peephole had Daria almost fling the door open, her eyes wide.
“Jane?”
“Yo, Amiga!” Jane retorted with a smirk. “Happy second thirty-ninth birthday!” After a moment’s silence, she added, “Are you going to let me in, or are you entertaining?”
“You’re usually entertaining enough,” Daria retorted, letting Jane pass through, a carryon and a small sack in hand. “Why…? How?”
“How is easy,” Jane replied, setting down her carryon. “It was just over a three-hour drive, well, three and half with the pit stop. Speaking of which, I’ll need your bathroom soon. Why?” Jane shrugged. “Your reply seemed a bit down, it is your birthday, and you’re one of the five most important people in my life. John knows all about how we lived for two years, and knows I still love you. So, I’m here to spend the night.” She held out the sack, which contained a bottle of Primitivo. “We’ll regress to those college years, split a pizza and a much better bottle of wine than we could afford then, and at the very least snuggle. If you want, you can even smoke one of your stinky cigars, and I’ll smoke a fat, even stinkier joint.”
Daria carefully set the bottle on the floor, and then just as carefully embraced her best friend. Smiling, Jane hugged her best friend back. After a moment, Jane pulled back a bit and said, “Happy birthday.”
The pair kissed as they continued to hug, and when they paused, Daria smiled for the first time in weeks before they kissed again.
On her 40th birthday, Daria evaluates her life.
November 6, 2021
Daria Morgendorffer rolled over in bed and muttered to herself as she stretched and opened her eyes, “Happy f’in’ birthday.”
Glancing at the bedside clock, she saw it was 7:10 – an hour later than her usual waking time, but since it was Saturday, that hardly mattered. Still….
Daria forced herself out of bed, and after a visit to the bathroom staggered a bit into the kitchen of her house to make what passed for her usual breakfast: tea, half a bagel with strawberry cream cheese, and as a birthday treat, one of the two chocolate cupcakes she’d bought two nights before.
As she puttered about getting breakfast, she glanced into the living room, and decided her place was neat enough and clean enough to put off doing cleaning until the next weekend. “House?” she muttered yet again. ‘I guess it meets the minimum definitions.’ She rarely thought of any place as home, not even this house where she had lived a number of years.
On the one hand, Daria owned the three-bedroom one car garage property outright – paid off because of the tiny percentage of her maternal grandmother’s fortune that she had inherited – less than half what her sister had gotten, never mind her mother and favorite aunt had inherited, who in turn got far less than her other aunt and her cousin. Still, it had purchased the tiny house in the upper-working class/lower middle-class suburb near Providence.
On the other hand, two of those bedrooms were 8x10 and the ‘master bedroom’12x12, with the rest of the house (kitchen with an area for a small table, living room) on a similar scale. The windowless bathroom in the center of house was small, the ‘half bath’ in the ‘master suite’ would have been almost too tiny to use for anyone larger than her old high school acquaintance Mack, and the attached garage would not accommodate a large SUV, as it also had the stairs leading down to the basement. There was, however, a small (8x6) utility room at the back of the garage, with the house’s backdoor between it and the kitchen.
Fortunately, Daria was still a rather slender 5 foot 3 (at least in her usual boots), and didn’t need a huge amount of space. She slept in the small middle bedroom – her double bed taking up much of the floor space. The master suite was her office, while the back bedroom served as the almost never used guest room. She was able to fix over the basement, and so her library and video collection mostly resided there, along with her meager exercise equipment, washer and dryer, and a small area set aside for a wine cellar.
Daria forced herself to change into sweats, gather the morning paper from the front stoop, and then head down to the basement for 30 minutes of exercise, with the basement speakers hooked into her computer and set to a FM local station that played what they called ‘new oldies’ – music from the ‘80’s to 2010.
As she worked out on the NordicTrack and waited for the timer to tell her when to quit, Daria considered her life.
In some ways, she could be seen, at least on the surface, to be successful.
She had wanted to be a writer. She had earned three degrees, and one of the two bachelor degrees had been the BFA in Creative Writing. She had published nine novels to date and was nearly finished with her tenth. On the other hand, none of those novels had sold well. Two thrillers, two sci-fi, and five what she had to admit were historical romances, and only three of those last five had sold over 10,000 copies each, and those just barely – none had reached 11,000. She was lucky she had a publisher who liked her writing, and was willing to publish novels that got decent reviews, even if they sometimes just covered the costs. Still, all had sold that first printing (eventually) and some the second – none had been bulk remaindered at least.
Knowing she would need a ‘day job’ to support her writing at least for a while, Daria had also earned BS and MS degrees, and had gotten a forensics job with the Providence Police back in 2006. She was now in charge of the forensics lab. Not the permanent career she had hoped for, but at least it was interesting, paid okay, and had decent benefits.
Glancing around the main room of the basement as she exercised, Daria had to admit that other than the shelves of books and videos, it was…utilitarian. There were very few personal touches in her house – a place she rarely referred to as ‘home.’ Sure, there were five of Jane’s paintings upstairs – one in the bedroom, one in the study, one in the entrance across from the front door, and two in the living room, but that was really it. No photos on the walls, no posters. The closest thing to personal decorations besides the paintings in the house were the montage of screen savers on one of her two computer screens (the other montage was of various science-based images, ranging from dinosaurs to astronomy images). There wasn’t even a wall clock upstairs and just a cheap one here in the cellar.
Daria’s weekend workouts were the only really hard workouts she did. Finished, she went upstairs to take a shower. She glanced at herself in the mirror over the sink – she still weighed less than 10 pounds more than she had when she had graduated high school, and she still didn’t have a grey hair – unlike her sister, who had been dying her hair for nearly 10 years. Being nude in the shower made her reflect on her love life, or rather the overall lack of one. Granted her 9th grade self had often wondered if she would die a virgin; she had not been that lacking. Between the ages of 18 and 36, she had had five lovers – three men and two women. Granted, the first had been a rather embarrassing one-night stand after a Halloween party the weekend before her 19th birthday. She had had too much to drink, but had known what she was doing – afterwards, she was just glad he had been sober enough to wear a condom.
The only relationship that had lasted longer than four months had been with Jane – from near the start of their Sophomore year through the end of their time as undergraduates. Towards the end, however, they had really just been affectionate snuggle partners, not often physical lovers. The last had been with one of the detectives she knew from work. They had just become actual lovers when he had been killed ‘in the line of duty.’ Since then, no opportunities had presented themselves, and she had not really gone looking.
Daria considered taking herself ‘in hand,’ but decided not to waste the hot water. She had the whole weekend, and might be in a more appropriate mood later.
Dressed in a clean if utilitarian outfit, Daria checked her email – birthday emails from her mother, Aunt Amy, and Jane, and ‘happy birthday’ greetings on Facebook from Jodie, Brittany, and Quinn. Jake had died a few years before, and Helen had retired two years before. She was still trying to settle into the rather nice retirement community just outside of Lawndale. Aunt Amy had just retired this past summer, and was travelling – the email had a photo of her and her current ‘companion’ (a twice divorced forty-something busty blonde) on the appropriate Isle of Lesbos.
Quinn, Jodie, and Brittany only sent birthday greetings. However the latter two were very good about keeping up their Facebook accounts, so Daria already knew of the exploits of their children (Jodie had two, Brittany three), husbands (both of whom Daria had only met at school reunions), and their work (Jodie was a stockbroker, Brittany worked part-time in a vitamin supplement store).
Daria rarely heard from Quinn directly; the two had ceased their warfare but had never grown close. Their mother kept the other posted. Quinn had never married, and was a fashion consultant for several upscale stores, two cable TV shows, and a talent agency, making sure their clients were always in the right fashion for their careers. Although Quinn never said anything about her preferences, Helen and Daria both noticed that Quinn was usually in the company of cute, compliant models, usually just above the legal age, sometimes male but usually female.
When Daria had entered Boston University for her master’s program, Jane had taken up an offer to move to New York with a group of BFAC grads to try and make it there. Jane was one of the few that succeeded, and she had also met and married just before she turned 30. She had two rambunctious boys and a moderately successful career – and since her husband was a slightly older investment banker (the fifth generation, no less), she had few financial problems.
Daria didn’t feel like editing what she had of that latest novel or starting anything new. Glancing at the time on her computer, she decided to read the morning paper and then indulge in her preferences. She took a glass of ice water and the paper into the ‘utility’ room. The sun was shining, so even if it was only in the 40s outside, it was warm enough in the sunlit room to sit with just a light jacket. She turned on the radio and set the volume low. She made sure she had the two scientific journals and the novel she was reading handy for after she finished the paper. She then carefully unwrapped the Cameroon-wrapped panatela, cut the end, and lit her first cigar of the day.
During the week, if she smoked at all, it was one cigar per evening. On Sundays, she usually limited herself to two. On lazy Saturdays like this, she indulged in both number and variety. After all, she was responsible to and for no one but herself. She avoided inhaling, and always at least cracked the window of what she more commonly thought of as the smoking room. Unlike her late father, she did not drink martinis or whiskey, although she often had a glass of wine or a beer with dinner, and sometimes had a glass of sherry, madeira, or even a liquor. Her last lover had introduced her to the habit, and she found she enjoyed the process of smoking, and enjoyed researching the various combinations of wrapper and other tobaccos.
When her cigar was finished, Daria kept reading to the end of her current chapter, and decided it was time for lunch. As usual, she ate light – a can of soup was sufficient. Checking her computer again, she saw there were no new emails or notifications – she had hoped Jane might respond to her return email, but no doubt the boys were keeping her busy.
Glancing around, Daria noted that the blinds were shut and the curtains closed. She therefore got a towel from the closet and laid in on her computer chair, fetched her favorite toys from her bedroom and the lube from the bathroom, and went to her favorite porn site for forty minutes of indulgence and three orgasms.
Feeling relaxed and a bit better, Daria cleaned up the office and her toys and dressed again, now in sweats. She spent an hour working on her next novel – to her private shame, it was yet another historical romance – she might despise the genre at times, but apparently it was what her muse was willing to create which would also sell.
Between her session with her toys and what she felt was a good writing session, Daria decided she deserved a reward. Opening the mid-sized humidor in the smoking room, she decided on one of the few really quality cheroots currently on the market. Despite the temptation of indulging on her birthday, she decided not to have a drink with it, instead again opting for ice water.
The cheroot was long finished, and Daria was nearing the end of the novel, when the unexpected sound of her doorbell made her look up. Seeing it was just after 4:00, Daria marked her place and went to see who was selling what at this time on a Saturday. She had out-argued enough missionaries of various types over the years that most proselytizers had learned to skip her house when they were canvasing, and of course it was the wrong time of year for girl scouts.
A glance through the peephole had Daria almost fling the door open, her eyes wide.
“Jane?”
“Yo, Amiga!” Jane retorted with a smirk. “Happy second thirty-ninth birthday!” After a moment’s silence, she added, “Are you going to let me in, or are you entertaining?”
“You’re usually entertaining enough,” Daria retorted, letting Jane pass through, a carryon and a small sack in hand. “Why…? How?”
“How is easy,” Jane replied, setting down her carryon. “It was just over a three-hour drive, well, three and half with the pit stop. Speaking of which, I’ll need your bathroom soon. Why?” Jane shrugged. “Your reply seemed a bit down, it is your birthday, and you’re one of the five most important people in my life. John knows all about how we lived for two years, and knows I still love you. So, I’m here to spend the night.” She held out the sack, which contained a bottle of Primitivo. “We’ll regress to those college years, split a pizza and a much better bottle of wine than we could afford then, and at the very least snuggle. If you want, you can even smoke one of your stinky cigars, and I’ll smoke a fat, even stinkier joint.”
Daria carefully set the bottle on the floor, and then just as carefully embraced her best friend. Smiling, Jane hugged her best friend back. After a moment, Jane pulled back a bit and said, “Happy birthday.”
The pair kissed as they continued to hug, and when they paused, Daria smiled for the first time in weeks before they kissed again.
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