I’m not that excited about it, really.
I’m going to be 32. I liked it better when the numbers were reversed. But it’s not like I’m super down about it either. It will happen, and then Tom and I are going on vacation for a week.
And during that time, we’ll celebrate the 10th anniversary of our wedding.
I imagine we’ll get on each other’s nerves a lot and all the other things married people do, like drive too long between meals because neither one of us wants to admit that we’re hungry and need to stop. Then I’ll get dehydrated and hypoglycemic and freak out on him about not letting me drive. Or something.
Speaking of which, I could really go for a steak right about now.
I’m trying to remember the last time I COULDN’T really go for a steak. I think even when I’m done eating a steak I could really go for a steak.
10! That’s aluminum. Or tin, if you can still find some of that rusty old shit around.