deckardcanine | To quote Emily in novice Spanish, "Tengo veintitres anos"

At 20, I was glad not to have to wonder whether to call myself a teenager, as well as to have outlived King Tut. At 21, I was glad to ditch the one awkward year when you're a twenty-something minor. At 22, I was glad not to worry as much that people would suspect I was lying about my age, even tho I never actually took advantage of being 21. I also had an iota of superstition thanks to the MTV saga title "Dead at 21."

And what's my "whew" now? In the news, there seems to be a disproportionate number of nutcases and inept criminals who are 22 years old. Last Friday, for example, a notorious woman who had spent seven years in prison for having sex with a 12-year-old married her victim; they are now 43 and 22, respectively. That's one of the more respectable examples in my mind.

It's quite likely that I'll notice just as many 23-year-old nutcases now that I have a mind to look for them, but I still feel relief mixed with my birthday joy. Next year I suppose I'll be glad not to associate my age with the immature narrator of that cruddy Blink 182 song or the ditzes in Dick. ("How old are you?" "Twenty-three!" "Is that your combined age?") I only wonder when the relief will give way to frets -- 30, 35, 40, 50, 60, never?

As testament to my sustained youthfulness, half my gifts are video/computer games -- one for each console I own. Last night felt much like old times as my SNES threatened to keep me up into the wee hours.