My friend Annie’s birthday is this week. We kicked off the week of celebrating by joining her at the F.A.B. (Fighting Against Breast cancer) 5k on Sunday.
She was a perfect hostess and threw a ladies brunch that will surely show up on pinterest one day.
Since I crashed at her place the night before, I did what I often have others do for me while baking- sit and kept her entertained as she cooked away.We talked about this, that, and the other, until the topic of her birthday came up. She’s older than me by just over a month. And this is the year we turn 27.
She said she had always wanted to have get-togethers and throw parties like this when she grew up and was just waiting to do it. Then, she realized recently, that uh…. well… somewhere in the past few years, we did grow up.
When? I’m not quite certain. Adulthood is a sneaky bastard, and I assume it snuck into my head as my preferences turned from Keystone Light to Goose Island.
Or when I made the decision on my own as to where I would live after college?
Or when I started drinking coffee instead of Diet Coke to wake myself up in the morning?
Or when I looked in the mirror and said to myself, “there is no way you’re leaving the house with a skirt this short. Has it always been this short? I look like a prostitute. Did it shrink in the wash?!?!”
Or when I started not being able to sleep in past 8:00 (or 9:00 at the very latest) on the weekends because I felt the need to “be productive”.
Maybe when I rolled my eyes in exasperation and said “oh crap… Mom was right.” (Yes, mom, I have said that. And no, I will not tell you specific times it happened.)
Whenever it was, it happened. And after Annie confessed her realization, we just looked at each other.
Sure, we have two very different lives. She has a husband and owns a house. I’m perpetually single and rent. She’s excited about the idea of children and I can’t wait to say I’ve officially kept a house plant alive for 3 years (this summerrrrr!!!!).
But we’re both adults, nonetheless. We pay bills and taxes. We grocery shop for ourselves. We clean. We watch the news and discuss the weather. We talk about 401k’s and health insurance options. And, as we now officially enter our late 20′s, the evidence is not only in how we act, it’s on legal documents, too.
But why don’t I feel different?
I still feel like I shouldn’t be allowed to do some of the things I do without thinking, “oh man… mom and dad are going to be so mad…”. Shouldn’t be allowed to buy certain things on my own. Go where I want without permission.
So, my question is, when does that part change? That part that automatically knows what to do and reminds me “you can do this because you’re an adult and that’s what adults do”.
Or will it? I’m nervous it won’t.
Maybe that’s ok. Because I can’t imagine my life without a few nights out of the month where I stay up much too late for my own good. Drink an extra glass or two of wine more than I should. Eat cookies for dinner. Giggle at the word “balls”.
So yes, we have come a long way. And yes, from the looks of this post, I’m still very much confused about my age.
But oh how much longer we have yet to go. 27 doesn’t seem as scary as it used to be.
Talk to me in another year…The recipe used for the cookie cake was Picky Palate’s loaded malted chocolate chip cookie bars. I doubled the recipe so it would give me enough for a 9×13 pan and, as mentioned earlier, cut out the marshmallows and cut back on the chocolate chips. The frosting made up for this. Promise.
Another promise? There is surely not a better recipe for a cookie cake. My favorite thing about it was how the malted milk powder/crushed whoppers baked. They created a texture as if toffee had been added. VERY chewy. And VERY addicting.
I’ll just hold on to that childish notion of eating cookies for dinner for maybe one more day…