Last night I had birthday shots with a 31 year old woman. In a drunken sway, she kept saying over and over again how old she was and it really got me thinking…
I used to be one of those people super comfy with being a wild-single-party-girl into my thirties (when I say “used to be” I mean like yesterday before I met this woman). Now, I’m not so sure I want to be gallavanting around town chucking shots of whisky down my throat for the next five or six years. Maybe (just maybe) I want something meaningful in my life to come home to… Maybe I want that feeling of rushing to my suburban house just to see my husband’s face and hear about his day…Maybe I want more than a summer fling with a 21-year-old bulgarian ex-model… Maybe I just want something REAL. Something tangible to grip besides a bottle of jack.
