In fact, I just “celebrated” my first ambivalent birthday.
The first birthday where my age was going to be a number that I actually wasn’t looking forward to.
The big 2-9.
The last year of my twenties.
A number that will be an ever-constant reminder over the next year that the countdown to 30 has officially begun.
I didn’t exactly know how to deal.
I went out. I had
And then I woke up with the first hangover I’ve had since college.
Okay, so that’s one thing I don’t miss from my younger days.
To top it all off, my husband gave me this:
Oh, no. I’m so NOT turning 30.
It gets worse. The card sings.
My husband has a particularly cruel sense of humor.
Either that, or he just can’t count.
It’s not so far-fetched considering that we've been married for almost 6 years and the man can’t even spell my name correctly.
So I’m 29 (NOT 30)…and I married a jackass.
Happy Birthday to me.