Happy Birthday to Me

Last week was my birthday. I turned twenty-five, which, my husband helpfully pointed out, is halfway to over the hill. While I can't dispute that, I expect another full twenty-five years to get there. Meanwhile, he turns thirty in just a few months. Thirty seems like a bigger milestone to me. Most 25 yr olds I know are lucky if they are simultaneously in grad school and don't still have their heads up our shorts. By 30 though, our lives should have some direction, and we should no longer be flexible enough to still have our heads up our shorts. Another good friend of mine also turned 25 this week. Her opinion is that being another year older only brings us one year closer to the time of our natural death. Death didn't figure into my concept of age, but then again, shorts didn't figure into her concept of age either.