Twenty-something

Despite my best efforts (hiding under the bed), my birthday came once again this year. I usually don’t mind birthdays, but I turned “old” this time. I’m 20 now, and according to my watch, it’s time to have my first mid-life crisis (and to pay more attention to Life Alert commercials).

I still remember when I was young (about a month ago) and I couldn’t even imagine myself at 20, so I always just assumed I’d be dead by now. I’m not exactly sure how I expected to die, maybe on a motorcycle, while working for the CIA or being eaten by the shark from Jaws. I just knew it would be an exciting way to go. But life has a funny way of surprising me, and I’m still here. I suppose it’s partly my fault, as I don’t even have a motorcycle (yet) nor do I work for the CIA (yet). I can’t really explain why Jaws hasn’t gotten me, other than the assumption that the amount of meat on my bones wouldn’t be worth the chase.

I’m not a teenager anymore. That’s scary to me; it’s been half a lifetime since the last time I could say that. Does that mean I have to be serious now? No more “typical teenager” stuff, like going to parties, driving too fast, playing with Ninja Turtles, thinking about sex every eight seconds, and running from the cops? Do I need to go get married and have three kids? That can’t be right! I’m not ready to grow up and I’m definitely not ready to own a minivan. I’ve never taken anything seriously before, other than the time I got a cute new teacher for my middle school swim team, whom I had to wear a Speedo in front of – now, that was serious.

Luckily, I’ve thought of a solution to delay my mid-life crisis until I feel I’m ready to handle the situation (translation: until I am under the influence of heavy sedatives). I remember back to when I was just 3-1/2-years-old. I was the youngest of four kids, and still sucked my thumb on a very regular basis. Don’t laugh. My thumb was my best friend, along with my belly button (I had an “outie” that made me look like I was wearing my diapers way too low. He was my other best friend/source of entertainment. Thank God it has become an “innie” over the years). Anyway, my parents were embarrassed enough that I was an “accident,” so they couldn’t stand that I still sucked my thumb. Now, I was a logical, intelligent kid, so they told me I couldn’t be 4 years old until I stopped sucking my thumb. I never did so again. Everywhere we went, I would ask people if they were aware that I was 4 years old, and if they would mind calling the child abuse hotline for me. The point is (I swear there is one) that I got to turn 4 about three months early.

If I can do that, then who’s to say that I can’t stay 19 a little longer? If I can turn 4 early, then surely I can stay 19 a little longer to even things out! I’m just not ready to take life seriously, and I’ve already found some gray hairs in the shower. As far as I’m concerned, I’ll turn 20 when I’m good and ready. Until then, I’ll need to stay away from motorcycles and CIA jobs. I’m not afraid of Jaws anymore – I have dentures sharper than his teeth. Plus, I could poke his eyes out with my belly button.