Twenty Eight

Today, I turned 28.

I’m not going to lie — I’ve kind of been dreading this. 28 feels pretty old. I can’t even sort-of pretend I’m in my mid-20s anyway. Celebrating my 18th with funfetti cake on a charter bus to my senior trip is a distant memory. When my parents were my age, they had me. Old!!

Today, though, the sun is out and I keep getting Facebook notifications of sweet “happy birthdays” posted on my wall.

Aussie is home, and he loves me so much that he bought me a copy of Time’s royal wedding issue because he knew I was too embarrassed (and cheap) to buy it for myself.

I spent the weekend with my family. who loves me enough to tell (and retell) embarrassing stories involving me and goggles and cursing and chickens and other things that don’t get to leave the circle of trust.

My coworkers sang “Happy Birthday” to me at 9 o’clock in the morning.

I have a home near a lake, can keep myself in fresh produce and free-range eggs, have enough time to get enough sleep, and get to be a little fancy-pants now and then.

So… things look pretty good from 28, guys. This isn’t so bad after all!