I've had it with twenty-somethings freaking out about their birthday.
"Oh my god. I'm going to be 24! What has happened to my 20s?"
My co-worker turned 26 today, and you would have thought she was turning 40, the desperation and sorrow she was showcasing. There is not a wrinkle on her face, a gray hair on her head, or a layer of fat on her pubescent body. Yet, every time someone wished her a happy birthday, she heaved a great sigh, and complained about being "soooo old." Instead of gifting her cupcakes and tulips, I should have given her Preparation H and some Depends.
What the hell is so great about being in your twenties, anyway? Sure, you don't gain an ounce eating pizza, burgers, onion rings and washing it all down with many beers. You can still stay out four nights a week, drink a glass of champagne, 3 V&Ts, a bottle of wine and not get hangovers. You can plead youth and ignorance when your car gets towed for too many unpaid parking tickets or you fall asleep in the back of a cab. You can shirk responsibility and say things like, "I had no idea that cute guy was an ex-con. He was so charming, and he was wearing Armani." But, in your twenties you're also incredibly naive, insecure, uncomfortable, and not really all that funny. Twenty-somethings are good to laugh at, not with. They may look perfect in a bikini, but they consider E! a news channel and they'll drink anything served in a plastic cup and puke it up. On your feet. A thirthysomething will at least discreetly locate a trash can in a corner. Twentysomethings are full of drama, venom and Bud Light. Every other day my 26 year-old co-worker has some sort of existensial crisis, is freaked out by everything from plastic to peanut butter, and is positive that Firefighters and EMT's having the authority change traffic lights in an emergency is a conspiracy and just not fair. Being twenty ish is exhausting.I had a lovely time in my twenties, but I was more than happy to kick it to the curb and welcome thirty (see: my 29th Birthday, my 30th birthday).
I was not attractive in my twenties. I was sorting out my personality. My look. My identity. I appeared to have self-confidence, but really I had very little. Possibly because my hair was short, reddish, my nose and my face were having a disagreement on who should be bigger, my chest was non-existent, and I was relying on a sense of humor and sharp wit meant to distract you from the uncomfortableness that was me circa 21-28. Like a fine Bordeaux, I aged rather well. My nose and face caught up with each other. Sort of. I made friends with my hair and better yet, figured out that a $100 haircut looks a whole lot better than a $40 haircut. I'm not bragging here. Far from it. But, if you saw me at 25 versus now, I think you'd agree, you'd rather be friends with the 31 year-old version.
Why is maturing a bad thing? Arrested Development is only funny as a televisions show, not a lifestyle. Having birthday is not scary. Twenty-six is NOT old. Thirty is NOT old. If you drink wine when it hasn't matured properly, you send it back. If you drink a young scotch, you puke it back up. Youth is not a positive thing. But, check back with me when I'm 65. I might have a different opinion.