So folks are telling me I’m getting old. Granted, a lot of the folks I know (bless their bitter little hearts) tend to be assholes and extremely age obsessed. Allow me to recreate a scene from my real life. This is my embittered co-worker giving advice to naive co-worker: “You better get a ring on your finger soon or you’ll end up an old maid like TY.”
Being naturally spunky, I’m all: “I age like fine wine, you !$#^%#$.”
Whereas embittered coworker counters with, “Wine from the Titanic that nobody wants.”
My reply: “Wine from the Titanic is the best wine of all!”
I’m only 27 and as much as I would like to retire from the workforce, the fact that I can’t collect Social Security means I’m not that old. I’d be the first to admit that for a large part of my early twenties, I lived in fear of reaching 30. My obsession with The Witch of Blackbird Pond is partly to blame since Kit Tyler and her cousins got hitched by the ripe old age of 16. Now that I’m almost 30 and surrounded by 21-year-olds dreading 23, I don’t see anything wrong with being a 30 or 40 or 50 year old woman, single, childless, and LIKING IT. So I’ve been going around telling people I can’t wait to turn 30 and the response is always a baffled, sometimes horrified WHY??? They think I have very warped ideas. I think society is warped. Sometimes I feel like I’m living in a Jane Austen novel and that’s not a good feeling.