OLD

I'm in my LATE. TWENTIES.

This hit me like a ton of bricks when I woke up this morning. Not "oh yay, it's my birthday!" or "oh yum, I get a free lunch today!" but "OH @#$%... I'M IN. MY. LATE. TWENTIES."

I feel like Kevin McCallister when he was told to pack his suitcase. What does this mean? Shouldn't I own property by now?

I vividly remember turning 17, my last summer of cheerleading camp. And now, ten whole years have gone by and what do I have to show for it? More pounds and fewer hair ribbons.

My birthday is the longest day of the year. Coincidence? I think not. 11 hours to go - this old maid is milking it hard.