My parents got married when they were 19 and 20.
They had me when they were 24, so they were pretty young parents.
When I was about 11 or 12, we went to a picnic that was part of my dad’s 20 year high school reunion weekend.
I remember thinking how ancient all of my dad’s friends were.
And I remember not being able to imagine any of my friends ever being that old.
When I was 16, I went to visit Lehigh.
I met the grad assistant for the swim team.
He was 21, and he seemed so…
grown up.
I couldn’t imagine turning 21.
Until I did.
Then I thought about New Year’s Eve,
in the year 2000.
I would be 30 then.
I couldn’t imagine being 30.
That was so…
old.
That came and went pretty quickly.
And then,
there was yesterday.
One of my best friends from high school was on a cross-country trip with her family.
She was going to stop in and visit on her way from Vermont to New York.
I hadn’t seen her since my sophomore year in college.
And I didn’t really think about it until yesterday morning.
I did the math.
I hadn’t seen her in twenty four years.
What the hell?
How the fuck did that happen?
And then I thought back to that reunion I went to with my dad, and how old I thought all those people were.
And it dawned on me.
I’m 5 years older than all those ancient friends of my dad were.
Yikes.
I ran and looked in the mirror.
What was my friend going to think?
I mean, I’ve put pictures of myself in a pretty tiny bikini all over the blog and facebook,
so she knew what my body looked like.
But that’s not up close.
How wrinkly would I look next to her?
What would she think?
Where were the tweezers?
I had to check for random hairs that had sprouted out of my neck over night.
And then she walked through the door.
All the worries vanished.
I forgot about what the years had done to my face.
I was just happy to see her.
When her funny and laid back husband told me that upon pulling into the driveway,
my friend started frantically checking the skin on her neck,
well,
I felt a little better.
She was worried about the same stupid bologna I was.
And what for?
I don’t give a crap how many wrinkles she has.
Or what her neck looks like.
Have I reached that next phase of life?
The one where you realize there’s more to life than a wrinkle-free face?
Or tight neck skin?
I think I have.
24 years go by really freaking quickly.
Ain’t nobody got time for that.
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