so, do i look older?
it’s cool, you can be honest. (not really).
technically, i was 25 years, 364 days, 20 hours in this picture, but you get the idea. (i’d take a fresh one now, but i worked all day and im not wearing any silver clothing or pretty eye makeup and nobody wants to see that).
i don’t see any wrinkles. and i think the hair dye effectively covers the grays.
i could totally pass for a solid 24. right guys?
so far, this whole 26 thing pretty much feels exactly like the whole 25 thing, except for that nagging, “you should have your life together a bit more by this point” crap i keep hearing in the back of my mind, but im getting pretty used to ignoring that.
no new privileges come with 26. no exciting milestones, or fabulous parties or instant wisdom.
it’s just one of those birthdays in my 20s that gets me a step closer to the big 3-0.
it’s the kind of age people forget when you tell them. the kind of age that just gets classified as “20s.” how old are you? oh. me? im twenty-blah-blah, is all anyone hears. to them 26, 27, 28. eh. it’s all the same.
my grandma told me yesterday, that for many years she was “26.” you know, until her kids got old enough that people started questioning when exactly she got knocked up and how she’d gotten through puberty so early.
if it’s a good enough age for her to lie about though, it’s good enough for me to actually BE i guess – for a couple years anyway.