Even though I don’t want to admit it, I turned 29 recently. I’ve officially left the MTV age demographic. Perhaps this is why, despite my recent infatuation with a tween vampire novel, I’ve been making an effort to act like a grown-up.
My plans started with saving for a new (read bigger) apartment and a real bed. (It’s probably time to get rid of the futon.) Then I decided I should buy matching cereal bowls instead of using leftover chinese take out containers. And wear high heels more often.
The high heels hurt my feet. The matching cereal bowls are chipped. And I had to use part of my savings to pay for the ER visit after I got hit by that errant driver last November. (Don’t worry, I haven’t figured out how yet, but he’s going to pay—financially--for it one way or another.)
But the good news is this: I figured out that maybe being an adult isn’t about how it should be, because life is rarely how it should be. It’s about enjoying, and accepting, what is.