Pretty much since my 21st birthday I've dreaded the forthcoming 365 days that made me 1 year older. Each year I would notice something else go wrong on my body. My hips got wider, my arms softer, my face more and more haggard. But this year was special. This year I found a grey hair -- the ultimate sign of aging. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I hadn't even had children and yet I was already resembling a grandmother. Then random joints started hurting and I started to complain about chairs and how they hurt me when I sat in them too long. One time I was sitting indian-style on the floor and it took me 30 minutes to recover once I was actually able to unfold my legs and partially stand. I didn't know 25 was this hard or I would have enjoyed 24 a little bit more while I still had the time and the energy to. All of a sudden I began to crave dried prunes and reruns of Matlock. I couldn't find one pair of panty hose that didn't have runs in them but I wore them anyways with my black therapeutic sneakers. I love to drive 25 mph and pull out in front of people just to slam on my brakes and curse the young. Oh and I hate that slutty Miley Cyrus.
So I decided that I was wasting too much of my precious time left thinking about getting old. I've learned to accept this old age and the odd misplaced facial hair it has brought me. But, trust me, I didn't let my youth go down without a fight...
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