Surely something is wrong in the world when you feel old at twenty-one (I will resist the urge to start singing Tori Amos’ “Jackie’s Strength”). I am an Adult now, and it’s the weirdest feeling ever.
The first indication was being on buying end of Girl Scout cookie season. When I was younger, my parents used to bring the order forms to work and now I’m the person in some little girl’s daddy’s office buying cookies. (Back when I was seven they used to be $2.50 per box. Now they’re $3.50. So sad.)
Little by little, other indications were trickling in. I suddenly developed an inability to stay out and awake later than midnight. I am now generally in bed and asleep by 12:30, preferably 11:30. I’m waking up earlier and earlier in the morning to get things done. Like making myself breakfast. And lunch. I am taking weird and oddly domestic comfort in interior decorating. What is happening to me?
But the biggest slap in the face was that my childhood best friend Woofie, whom I have known since I was ten years old, is now a married woman. Wait, wasn’t it yesterday that we were in our blue-and-white pinstriped pinafores and Oxford saddle shoes attending Girl Scout meetings after school? The more terrifying aspect of this is that she’s the second girl I know to get married. Surely the wedding rounds don’t start until you’re at least in your late-twenties or early-thirties?