25, minus 1

Tomorrow, I turn 25 years old.

I’m going to the city – and yes, when you grow up in Connecticut, New York will forever be “the city” – with Dave and meeting my parents for dinner at probably the best restaurant ever (besides La Salsa, obviously.) I’m having a big sleepover next weekend. I might even treat myself to a pedicure, just because it seems like a quarter century calls for something like that.

But none of this changes the fact that suddenly, I’m really, really old.

I know this is super stereotypical and just an extremely tired thing to say, but: I don’t think I’m OK with this.

I’m hoping it’s nothing Eric Ripert can’t fix.

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2 Responses

  1. I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve been at least 40 years old since I met you.

    • If by 40 you mean 13.

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