For years Gene and I would always claim 29. No matter how old you get, when asked, say 29. I always thought WHATEVER, it’s so far away that it’ll never matter anyway!
Except now it’s 2 days away.
Around my birthday every year I wonder when I have to grow up. 18? 21? 25? Now 30? Are you officially grown up when you start wearing mom jeans and festive holiday sweaters? Because I think I’m going to be one of those crazy grandmas that has on jeans and a snakry tshirt and Chucks. What about when you drive a Cadillac 60 MPH down the slow lane of the freeway? I think we can all agree I’ll never drive slower than the speed limit. Ever.
So I dunno. For some reason this year I don’t feel older. Last month I started to wonder if I’d be here mentally right now. And by “here” I mean, not in a mental ward somewhere banging my head against a wall chanting “29, 29, 29, 29”. Then about a week ago I realized that I get to be 29 for a year.
I’ll worry about it next year.