“This isn’t flying. It’s falling with style.”
Age 21: Look at you! You’re an adult. Congratulations, you’re on the clock.
Age 22: “I just ousted @TipsyTina69 as mayor of Purple Gator Bar & Grill on @foursquare!”
Age 23: A song/poem/story/painting/playlist you created no longer functions as an acceptable gift for your girlfriend.
Age 24: “This is just a temporary thing, until I figure out what I really want to do with my life.”
Age 25: Missing a day’s work because you went out with your friends and got shitfaced stops being funny.
Age 26: Vacation destinations you can cross off your list: Cancun, Amsterdam, any trip or tour that involves a backpack.
Age 27: Things you can no longer have in your apartment, even in an ironic sense: A futon that you sleep on. Mismatched dishes. A roommate.
Age 28: You will never again walk into a bar and pick up a chick based solely and entirely on how hot you are. Also over: any drink served in a vial, test tube or girl’s navel.
Age 29: That temporary thing you were doing, while keeping your options open? It’s your thing now. The window for a radical career change is closed, unless you’re going to do something weird like become a hospice attendant or a Sea Org Scientologist.
Age 30: The first two items you’ve crossed off your “Essential Qualities in a Perfect Husband” are: A) Has a full head of hair and B) Has a nice car.
Age 31: Dude, put your shirt back on.