As I countdown the days with dread until my 30th birthday, I’ve been getting sentimental for the time when I could drink all night and feel fan-fucking-tastic the next day or eat an entire large combo pizza without crying in shame 30 minutes later. So I’ve been taking note of all the ways I am slowly but surely becoming an adult. Dun dun dun!
Unwanted facial hair: I’m a blonde haired Scandinavian but I still have to check every morning to make sure I don’t have a chin hair waving hello at everyone that day. You’d think god would cut me a break for being so pale that I look like a stick of butter with arms and legs, I would at least not have to worry about gnarly black hairs sprouting from my lip.
Lower car insurance rates: Gone are the days of cranking up Nsync as high as possible and blabbing with the seven plus people you have shoved into your 91′ Corolla. Now you’re blastin the Michael Buble Christmas album, but your hands are at 10 and 2 and you keep it under 55 mph.
You start contributing to your 401k: Having an 87 year old man hand you your taco twelve pack at the drive thru might give you a wakeup call that you should start throwing some sheckles towards your retirement.
Your pantry is filled with more items from Trader Joes and Costco and less from 7/11: You’re buying things in bulk to plan ahead and reap the savings instead of just having food for the next day (if that) at home. I survived my late teens/early twenties on Cup O’ Noodles, Reeses, and Cheez-It’s.
You attend more baby showers than parties: If I have to play the what kind of shit candy bar is melted in this diaper one more time I’m gonna sneak an actual shit filled diaper in the mix and watch these bitches try and guess.
You start using anti wrinkle cream: They all make promises they cant possible achieve, but you figure better safe than sorry and slather that shit on in the hopes you don’t have a Mel Gibson-y forehead down the line.
You select clothing and shoes more so for comfort than style: I used to rock heels, skirts, push up bras, and spanx. Now my closet contains mostly yoga pants, anything that doesn’t require me to shave, and wear a bra only when I absolutely have to (Work and Funerals)
You’re pinning home decorating, cleaning hacks, and parenting tips instead of shirtless hotties, Yolo quotes and cocktail recipes: Granted my Pinterest boards are now filled mostly with “How to cook a meal without burning the house down” pins, I still keep my cool points with my “chug till you pass out drinking games” board.
No doubt on my 40th birthday I’ll laugh at all this tom foolery I think makes me a “Grown Up”. By then I’ll probably be 3 divorces deep with a botched boob job and a house full of cats all named Channing Tatum.