First of all, thanks to everyone who left me a “happy birthday” message on Wednesday. You could have wished happy birthday to Fidel Castro or Alfred Hitchcock, but you picked me, and I shall not forget your kindness.
I spent most of my birthday at home alone (just the way I like it), then put on this outfit to go out for a nice dinner to celebrate 29! Twenty-nine is the age that people tend to hang on to for a while. So now I worry when I tell people I’m 29 they’ll secretly be wondering if I’m actually 34 and just lying to them.
But I figured out how to avoid this problem. Here’s my plan: I’m just going to claim I’m 22 because (1) it’s still old enough to drink, (2) people don’t question that age, (3) I’m obviously very young-looking and it’s totally believable, and (4) Taylor Swift convinced me it’s a good age to be.
I’m going to claim I’m 22 until I’m 40, at which point it might be slightly less believable. Then I’ll claim I’m 50, and everyone will tell me how great I look for my age.
Great idea? Or the greatest idea? You get very wise at 29.
*Clutch purchased with gift card provided courtesy of H&M.