Twenty-What?

Ever since I turned 29 a few months ago I've been plagued with the typical fear that my twenty-something malaise/indefinite post-adolescence will never evolve into a more solidified and respectable form of adulthood, that I'll turn thirty feeling even more indifferent to embracing responsibility and life direction that I am now.

Two incidences today have further illustrated this uncomfortable reality. First was in a conversation with a 33 year-old co-worker who assured me that I shouldn't feel bad that he and his wife are buying their second house because he is "a decade older" than me.

Hey Pretty: But dude, I'm 29.

Co-worker: Yeah, but I feel a decade older than you.

Third Co-worker: It's just you're youthful attitude shining through.

Hey Pretty: You mean my bratty immaturity, don't you?

[end scene]

Then at lunch with co-workers we ordered a pitcher of margaritas and I was actually carded by the waiter. Yes, nothing like seeking to prove oneself capable and serious in the workplace when being accused of being nineteen by a food service employee.

Fuck all of them I say. If the world thinks I'm underage, suffice to say I'll still be considered hot when I'm forty.