32

32.
Thirty-two.
Thurteeeeee. Toooooo.

That used to be what old people were, remember? Remember when we were young and thought about our parents ages and how we would look and act and talk when (and if) we were that age?

And remember how we figured we would be flying cars and eating our meals in capsule-form and be movie stars and millionaires and have a vacation home on the moon (or Gilligan’s Island)?

So far – I married my best friend, had another baby, quit drinking, joined a church, got pierced, quit smoking, got baptized, ditched a career I hated, got another tattoo, opened my own business, unpierced myself – I even went to the prom. And for the most part, in that order.

I like my life. I love my life, really. Apparently that happened in my thirties too – so it’s about time I got to 32 – aparently it’s been waiting for me for like, ever.