Ok, so just now, like literally five minutes ago, this weird friend of mine called me and said that she’s engaged. I obviously told her how “excited” and “surprised” I was, but I didn’t mention the fact that imagining her in a wedding dress scared me to fucking death. Not because she wouldn’t have a chic wedding, I mean, she definitely will not be having a chic wedding, but my gut-punching fear was not connected to the prospect of her painfully mermaid-y mermaid dress. No, I shat my pants because her news made me feel old. Well, it made me feel old and young.
If this psycho friend of mine, who features a yellow Range Rover (not joking) and insists on wearing Matthew Williamson to every single, God damn event can find a reasonable mate, does that mean I too have a match out there? Do I even want that? Am I too old to still hang out with the guys I knew in high-school? Is it bad for my health? But they all have such big dicks for some reason. How old am I, actually? So many variables in my life right now. It’s Insane.
Immediately after these sensations of geriatric withering, I felt like a little girl. So gemini of me. But seriously, I found myself thinking of my engaged friend as an older sister and it freaked me out. A) She could have never been born from my gene pool with that widow’s peak, and B) She’s two years younger than me. It’s like she’s going off to live this life reserved for parents, stepmoms, and girls that used to fuck Justin Timberlake. Normalcy. Ugh. Normalcy?
How can I honor the spirit of my body’s goddess (fuck a lot of people) while keeping my life low key enough to maybe even make moves towards having a family one day like Gwyneth? I’m only one woman. What do you want from me?