Okay, so, I’m actually turning 30, but due to the societal expectations that turning 30 entails – with at least a dozen things that I feel like I should have gotten done at this point and haven’t even come close to (including but not limited to: buying a house, getting married, sending out Christmas cards with my new husband and our adopted cat that say something like “Meowy Christmas,” driving a car different from the one I had in college, paying for my own Netflix account, starting a Pinterest board, and posting to my Instagram page at least one inspirational quote written against the backdrop of a beach) – I had the idea to instead celebrate my 29th birthday again.
I’ll probably keep doing this “annual 29th birthday” bit until around 36 or 37, in which case I’ll give in to my real age because I’ll be in my late 30’s, and by then fake pretending to still be in my 20’s will just be sad, to the point where even my most forgiving friends won’t be able to pretend to laugh anymore.
Until of course, I turn 40 – and at that point, I’ll have my second annual 39th birthday, forgetting that I originally made the same ten joke years prior, while all of my friends politely chuckle at my wit while secretly feeling sorry for me that I didn’t accomplish as much as I should have by my 40th year (including but not limited to: buying a house, getting married, cat, Christmas cards, Pinterest, etc).
I’ll continue this cycle until my 60th birthday, in which case I won’t care anymore because I’ll either 1) have the unfiltered confidence of a late middle-aged woman and will finally come to peace with my age because at the end of the day, who really cares about that? or 2) have no sense of humor anymore, even an unoriginal one.
Anyway, you are all cordially invited to join me for my second annual 29th birthday.
Which is secretly my 30th, but please don’t spread that around.