From Roaring 20s To... Dirty 30s?

I am currently staring down the barrel of my 30th birthday. And it is a short barrel. Very short. As in, 4 days from now short. As much as I'd like to hold my head high and claim that I am embracing a new decade with grace and pizazz, truthfully I am looking forward to spending this birthday curled up in the fetal position, guzzling vodka and ignoring calls from so-called friends phoning in to taunt me.

"But Maggie", you might ask, "aren't you the one who can't wait to turn in to a crazy old lady?" to which I will gleefully cackle affirmation. But 30 isn't crazy old lady territory yet. I still have another 20 years before I can bust out the hats adorned with birds and feathers or wear a fur coat over a housecoat with gardening clogs. Since I am on the subject of fashion, allow me to make a clothing related analogy: Your 30s are like a black V-neck sweater from the Gap. Sensible. Practical. Necessary. But freaking boring!

Your 30s are when you are old enough to know better. You can jump up on a bar and start dancing when the mood strikes you in your 20s... or even in your 50s, because who's going to argue with you then?

This seems to be the decade about getting your shit together. Get married (or remarried) quick... it might be your last chance. Hurry up and pop out a few kids before your eggs shrivel up. Land that promotion before some snot-nosed kid fresh out of college steals it. Quit throwing your money away on rent and buy a house. Invest your money because retirement will sneak up on you. Let some grass grow under your feet. Settle down. Grow up.

When I was 23, I worked with a woman who refused to celebrate her 42nd birthday, choosing instead to refer to it as the 13th anniversary of her 29th birthday. I thought she was being silly at the time.

Now I understand...