Am I a Late Blooming Adult?

It’s not often I’m insecure about my age, usually because I forget I’m aging, but this week I was sadly reminded I do have an expiration date.

I was at my usual lunch spot for a quick bite and an eavesdropping fix. I love hearing dirty little secrets I’m not supposed to know. Today’s conversation do-jour was a pair of young gals chatting about their next big steps. You know, the usual babies, marriage, and careers.

Boring. Boring. Boring. Perfectly normal conversations, but I was hoping for something juicier. I looked behind me for a visual. Just as I thought, the step-ford breed. You know, the type of chick whose definition of naughty is eating two pieces of chocolate rather than one. My mind starting drifting away from their conversation, until I overheard age being discussed. One was 26, the other 27.

First off, I thought these chicks were older than I, but that’s beside the point. Second, I don’t remember talking about this shit when I was 26 and 27. At their age, I was a young professional who worked hard during the weekdays, and took tequila shots on the weekends.

I officially lost all interest in their discussion, and wrote them off as baby obsessed and marriage crazy. Then I had a terrible realization…

Fuck. What if I’m wrong? What if those twenty-somethings are doing the right thing? There are more women in their camp than there are in mine. Shit am I a late blooming adult? I have been with everything else in my life, why not now? Fuuuuuuck.

MINI MID-LIFE CRISIS IN FULL EFFECT

OMG! Why didn’t anyone tell me? My mom did, but she doesn’t count. Don’t I have friends who are supposed to tell me when I’m acting like an immature idiot? Fucking bitches. I am gonna wind-up alone, with two dogs, Hitachi, and a jar of peanut-butter on the side of my bed.

Whatever, it’s not the first time I don’t get the memo on life’s to-do list. My last name should have been Late-Bloomer; pronounced in French so it would sound pretty. At least I would I have a surname explaining as to why I don’t “get it”. I went through high school not knowing people had sex, and sporting a bowl cut through my senior year. (Monica if you are reading this, you should have told me that wearing Looney-Toon Clothing was not cool.) Even as a teen I would practice over listening. I would hear female classmates talk about boys, and I thought it was lame. In my late 20’s, I overheard women talk about kids, and I thought it was lame. It turned out I was wrong in my teens; some boys turned out to be pretty cool. And based on my niece, kids are turning out to be pretty cool too. Am I wrong again? Could be…

My realization saddened me for the rest of the day, it made me question my place in life. I’m 30, and I still find enjoyment in corny pick-up lines, and sticking “kick-me” signs on people’s backs. Since I couldn’t come up with a rational answer to and prove myself right; I opted for mental cattiness, and blamed it on the hormones.

Hmm, maybe they were lying about their age. For being 26-27, they look as if they are 40. They should stay out of the sun and get on a treadmill because their expiration date was at 25.

Sigh, my ego feels much better. Now back to my sandbox.