34
I turned 34 years old this past Wednesday. 34. It used to seem like such a big number. Of course, at the time I was approximately 12 years old and you’re barely a human being at that point. But now I’m 34. So far, it’s not so bad. It’s not quite old enough for me to feign senility when people I don’t like are talking to me, and I don’t yet get to check the box for the next age bracket on surveys, but somehow it feels more mature. Like I’m one step closer to looking down and noticing that I spilled something down the front of my shirt sometime during that day and not giving a crap about it. Just think of all the gas I’ll save not running home to change my clothes! Now that’s freedom.
Truth be told, turning 34 is pretty uneventful. When you’re younger, each year is a milestone with the occasional EXTRA BIG MILESTONE thrown in for good measure. When you turn 16, you get to drive. When you turn 18, you can not only vote and buy cigarettes and lotto tickets, but you can also buy dry ice. Dry ice, people. Then comes the 21st birthday. We’re not even gonna go there. Finally, there’s the big 2-5 when you get to watch your car insurance rates drop dramatically. And after that…
Well, there’s not much to look forward to until 55. That’s when you get to start going to dinner at 4 pm to hit up the early bird special. Mmmmm…meatloaf! But first, a matinee. At the senior rate please! I am gonna ROCK the elderly scene! I’ve already begun perusing canes with which to hit tap whippersnappers when I feel the need to impart some of the wisdom that comes with age.
Until then, I’m just going to curl up on the couch with a blanket and my new pile of graphic novels I got as presents. Thank you, Andrew! (I think he’s spying on me because he picked out the exact ones I wanted. It’s spooky, really.)
34.
As my Poppop Lopez used to say, "It’s better than the alternative."
Will you still vote for me on Humor-Blogs.com when I’m old and gray?
