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.