I'm How Old???

I turned 33 years old on Wednesday. Yes, double threes! I just can't accept it. But, I've done the math, there is no changing it.   You take a 50 year old woman and subtract 17 years and you get me. No matter how many times I try to take the year 2010 and deduct 1977 from it, I still end up with the same result.  I am a 33 year old woman. Holy Sh*t.. HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN?

There is no denying it, I am in my thirties. My thirties!! That's, like,  my parents age! Oh, wait a minute..not any more it isn't. That's how old they were when I was ten. And when I was ten, I thought 33 was ancient.  Seriously though, aren't people in their thirties supposed to wear chinos and pastel colored polo shirts, drink sparkling water and discuss their 401k's? Aren't thirty three year old women supposed to spend their afternoons plucking gray hairs and chatting with their doctors about their fiber intake?  Aren't thirty somethings supposed to be lame??

I don't feel lame. Heck, I don't even feel like a grown up yet. When's that  whole part kick in? I mean, technically, I'm a full fledged grown up. I've got the paperwork to prove it. So, why is it that I still feel the need to hide the fact that I occasionally enjoy an alcoholic beverage from my mom? Why do I still find myself laughing uncontrollably at fart jokes?  Why do I still prefer Lucky Charms for breakfast instead of Grape Nuts? How come I still can't quite figure out the exact amount of time to cook popcorn in the microwave without it catching fire?  Why am I still planning things to do "when I grow up"?

I realize that 33 is not "OLD"... but, it's older than I feel.  I still wonder what happened to my twenties! I should have paid more attention! Why didn't I spend more time learning how to properly fold a fitted sheet?  Shouldn't I know how to use the barbecue grill by now? Why am I still petrified of the lawnmower?  Thunderstorms still scare the bejesus out of me.  And don't you dare ask me how to cook a turkey, because I still have to call my mom and ask her every time I try.

I don't know why, but being 33 bothers me.  I don't like it.  The other night we were at a restaurant with our friends. They told the waiter it was my birthday. He said "Hey! 21 again, huh?"  The bastard. How dare he? That's the same joke people used to say to my mom when she was....well, when she was in her thirties.  Everyone laughed to be polite to the overly friendly and uber-touchy douchebag waiter. Meanwhile, I was fuming. That son of a bitch. Is he saying I can't pass for 21 anymore? I can totally pass for 21, right? RIGHT? I mean, it was dark in there.. He totally could not see the 14 gray hairs I had been hiding amongst my curls.  And I was relatively positive he could not get a good view of my granny panties considering I was trying really hard to keep my bunion affected feet under the table.  Maybe he heard me moaning about my "aching back" as I attempted to reach down in my purse for some Gas-X.  I mean, really, the guy was just way too presumptuous. I'm sure there are plenty of 21 year olds who fall asleep at the table because they only got one nap that day. It's not uncommon. Young and feisty ladies totally get tired too, ya know.

Urgh, who am I kidding? I guess it's time I faced the facts. I am a grown up. I'm officially well into adulthood. Actually, I am pretty sure I hit the whole "adulthood" milestone a while back. I just never noticed.  Maybe that's what's different this birthday. I'm actually paying attention. Crap, I'm pretty sure that's another sign I'm getting older. Dang, there really is no denying it, huh? I'm gonna go drown my sorrows in ice cream. (and then some Pepto Bismol because I just can't handle dairy like I used to)