27 years and 362 days. I think.Freakishly corresponding with my first day of employment is my birthday and the last hurrah of my 27th year. I know many of you had to hear about the angst of turning 27. That fabled year of adulthood. As this new adult, I was going to drink wine out of wine glasses with no exceptions, have cocktail parties, matching undergarments, splurge on lovely sheets, always carry my handbag with me to the ladies room, and live less like a student generally. Well, I'm proud to say that most of that came to pass. I have a gorgeous gold duvet that I absolutely heart. Just last week, when we were down to our last unbroken wine glass, I refused point-blank to drink red wine out of lowball glass (for all your 12 year olds out there, yes, that's what it's called, I looked it up!). I even stood firm when someone resorted to calling me 'boughie'--which if you know me, you know that I aspire to the boho life. But still, I would not drink from his cup. I had one cocktail party (loose term) which ended in the RA showing up (geez, what other 27 year old could say that!?)...not my finest hour, but I was a charming hostess re-filling chip bowls and grinding frozen strawberries for delicious daiquiris. I now have a dishwasher and a fancy set of cutting knives (what's his is mine, right?) and find that my life is pretty far from my student qualms. So, all in all, 27 was a lovely year with amazing peeps and hijinks and one of those numbers that just feels so cool to say. Turns out I don't care for even numbers very much. HELLO 28!
P.S. I may spend the weekend coming up with the meaning of 28 for my life. I am sure many of you wait with bated breath.
No comments:
Post a Comment