Awww, would you look at that. Face lit up with excitement. Eyes filled with hope. Hand...making offensive gestures to the camera?
Yep, that's me as a toddler. As you can tell from this photograph, my demeanor hasn't changed much. You can also tell my mom somehow knew I was going to be freakishly tall, and bought jeans that needed to be rolled up 72 times. I could probably still wear those today, but apparently my mom didn't know I was also going to develop a large butt and a muffin top.
My birthday is rapidly approaching, and this year I'm transitioning from "mid-twenties" to "late twenties". Which, in my humble opinion, sucks major ass. I bet you older readers are groaning right now, but you know you complained about turning 27. Sure, you didn't blog about it, but you probably scrawled some angry symbols on the side of a cave or something, yes?
As I inch closer and closer to my "late twenties", I've noticed small changes. My mother is sending me directions to speed-dating events in my area. Gee, eight first dates in one night? That sounds awesome. They should sweeten the deal with a free mammogram or something else painful and embarrassing.
People are also starting to apologize for carding me. "Sorry, ma'am" they say. "No problem, whipper-snapper" I say as I gingerly shank them with a broken beer bottle and casually step over their quivering, hemorrhaging body.
And a twenty-one year old actually hit on me because he prefers "older women". Awesome. He thinks I'm the Blanche Devereaux of the Lakewood bar scene. I might've gone home with him but my Jazzy scooter didn't fit in the trunk of his Ford Probe.
Everyone says it's just another year--but why does it have to come with a whole new label? If I had my way, there would only be two ages: legal and not legal. That would be the only birthday present I need.
That and a bunch of cash, I mean.
2 comments:
Darling, you have it all wrong. You are in your mid-twenties until the stroke of midnight on your twenty-ninth birthday. Then you can use the "twenty something" label for a good while after that.
Also, I should have known you were going to grow up to be ornery, as proven by your early finger posturing. But at least you know how to use toilet paper.
come on, twenty-seven? you're way to young to be concerned about age. i on the other hand just turned twenty-nine (give or take ten years). and there's a clear difference. when I stay out until four in the morning on a saturday, i lay around all day sunday feeling like i drank the water in mexico rather than pints of guinness (and it carries over into monday). YOU, on the other hand, pop up, start over and continue until eight sunday evening. clearly you're still young and spry. so stop complaining.
and have friend text anderson and tell him to start playing basketball. he's looked lost so far in the playoffs.
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