An Epilogue...

A few stops on the road out of my twenties:

Driving to work this morning the radio station was playing songs from 1996; I turned up the volume and sang along to the soundtrack of my youth. I was 18 that year. By age 29 I was supposed to be CEO or Professor of something. Wasn't I? Weren't we all? I most certainly was not to be married with children.

I received a shirt for my birthday which was way too hip for me; hysterically so. I tried it on and both Cory and I laughed. I ventured into Banana Republic to return it and immediately recoiled at my other choices on display: white and mint green polka-dot blouses, exact replicas of those my grandmother wore 20 years ago (I kid you not, I am sure I have pictures somewhere). I was hard-pressed to find a single item of clothing in that store that I would wear, and the salespeople knew it. They ignored me and my stroller. I admit I have never been cool, believing in sensible shoes, taking cues from friends so I can skirt the edges of acceptable fashion. But this was the beginning of the end. I have no hope whatsoever at following trends ever again. I don't know why I am surprised. I am 29, after all.

The Baristas at Starbucks were lamenting that their new Razr (spelling?) phones had buttons that were too small for texting effectively. I showed them my new (pink!) phone that I am very proud of. They asked me about the buttons. I said it didn't matter because I don't text-message. They stared, silent.

Ahh. I was 18 once.