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Late Upper Twenties!

I have a friend who will be turning 29 this Friday; for as long as I've known her, she's been battling numbers. More specifically, her age. And, not so much the number but where it lies, early, middle or late. When I first met her, I remember we had this discussion about the age of 25. You're in your late twenties I'd tell her (her "middle twenties" is something that she concocted; as far as I'm concerned you're either in your early or late 20's, 30's, 40's etc!). No! She would put her foot down and tilt her chin to the air, eyes closed, arms crossed. I'm in my middle twenties!" and after 15 minutes or so, I had to give in...for that day. As the years have crept up on the both of us, the position has changed. Middle twenties, then upper middle twenties, then last year, her late lower twenties. You see where this is going!

By the time I saw 28, I was already making old man sounds whenever I got up out of low seated chairs (fellas, you know the sound, the "hu-rumph or hu-uh" sound that escapes your lips like you're trying on a childhood pair of undies) and teenagers were calling me "sir" (every now and then my head whips around like they were talking to the person behind me and then, like the great detective I am, I point a finger @ my chest and tilt my head forward inquisitively), I figured, to hell w/it, I'm 30! It's just a marker. Utterly painless. I was 29, the clock struck midnight and I was 30, no big deal.

Then again, she's a woman. Women tend to view aging a bit differently. I mean, I know men that obsess over aging, but not like women.

What a world it would be if men did...



This guy and his band rocked @ the Birchmere last night!!!

http://www.victorwooten.com/

Comments

Anonymous said…
Society forces women to obsess about aging. Young skinny women are all over the magazines and in the movies. Society as a whole is somewhat obsessed with youth. Youth and sex sells. Have we've ever seen any of the Golden Girls prancing around nude in a Calvin Klein perfume commercial? Eww, the thought. . .

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