Where have my mid twenties gone? (to the tune of "Where have all the cowboys gone" - Paula Cole)
When the hell did I become such a grown up"? Between the babies, bills, and other seriously annoying bullshit, I'm definitely feeling a little old.
Just yesterday evening, while enjoying some much needed girl time with my best friend, I started to really feel it. All around me, people were acting like total... ass clowns, for lack of a better term. Girls where weeping over their inattentive mates, people where shouting obscenities at the bar staff and anyone else who would listen, and more than a dozen people were stumbling out of the pub, swearing they were "totally cool to drive, bro". This crowd was peppered with forty year old women, all wearing similarly styled bobs and bedazzled mom jeans, jovially singing "Let's Give Them Something to Talk About". Kill. Me. Now.
In most cases, I embrace my maturity. I enjoy being 'maternal' and enjoy the satisfaction brought by responsible choices. BUT, when it comes be the M word (a.k.a : Ma'am), the jig is up. At the ripe old age of twenty-frickin-five, I much prefer the cadence of "miss". To the gentlemen who refereed to me using said jargon (three times) - shove it.
And so, after a couple of ma'am's, a rousing performance by the Bonnie Raitt forty-somethings, and a suave Guido name Sergio who cursed more than I do (a lot!), I ended up at Meijer. 2am on a Saturday night, grabbing diapers, the new Parents magazine, and a lighter for my new potpourri burner. Lame? yep.
On my way to the self checkout, it occurred to me. Sure, I've traded in six packs for sippy cups and Cosmo for Parents, but is that really so bad? Glancing back to those late nights of partying met with severely hungover sunrises and that dreadful "dating game", a pack of Luvs and a magazine doesn't look so bad. But hey, even a mature young mother needs a nice cold beer here and there!
With a freshly renewed appreciation for my lot in life, I happily headed home.