Our little life, and the big deal I make out of it all.
Turning thirty... again.
"Thirty!?" You say. But how can a woman born in 1982 possibly have reached thirty so early. Well. I'll tell you. Beginning last year, I decided to forgo the formalities of an accurate age and simply round to the nearest pentade. That means that I will be turning thirty for the next four years. At which point I plan on rounding to thirty-five for a while. And then forty. And so on. That is, until I hit sixty. At that point I'm switching to decades. Until I hit 100. And then I will switch back to precise age measurement. Because once you are one hundred, you gain a lot of clout for an extra year or too.
Here's the thing. Everyone else kind of generalizes age. ("Oh, she's in her thirties.") So why shouldn't I just beat them to the punch?
And then you don't have to stop and think, twice a year, when someone actually asks how old you are, to remember how many candles were on the last cake. After five years of turning thirty, I am dang well going to have an answer ready at hand.