As you all know, since I’m a lush and tell everyone it’s my birthday and expect just as many gifts in return for my news, I turned 28 on Saturday. I joked about getting old in my last post, but I’m actually 100% ok with turning one year older. While it did feel weird to type out the number twenty-eight, mainly because I still feel every bit of 12 years old, I’m actually okay with growing up now. The wrinkles are starting to make their slow entrance on my face, the grey hairs come in twos every few months, and somehow a ten o’clock bed time seems late these days. But I’ve got 28 years and two days of experience in my pocket and that’s something to be wrinkled, grey and tired about, right?
Plus, who am I kidding? I still get carded every time I order a drink. Which is not often, grandma, I promise.