me at 28

I’ve dreaded every birthday after 25. I don’t have a good reason, either. Maybe society tells us getting older is a bad thing, that the peak of physical condition is 25 and all the days after that are double cups of coffee, falling asleep during any movie after 10:00 pm and “Wait, did I already tell you this story?”

Or maybe I just thought 25 was as good as it got. I couldn’t imagine a year topping that one.

So yeah, I haven’t really been a big celebrator the last few birthdays. But this year we made plans. Plans that only went as far as leaving the boys with a babysitter and six hours to kill and no destination in mind. Ended up downtown at a coffee house and when we’d had our fill of that we got back in the car and started driving.

“Want to go antique store hopping?” he asks me.

“Sometimes it’s scary how well you know me.”

So here’s to moving past 25 (finally), and to coffee that tastes divine even without sugar, and to 50 year old treasures found under piles of VHS tapes, and to downtown at dusk.

Thanks for sticking around.