My birthday is coming up. It isn't an overly significant birthday other than the fact that it marks a decade of dating failure to celebrate.
When I was sixteen I had my future figured out. I'd go to college and get good grades, of course. But I would also date regularly because I'm hott like that and I would have my pick of the boys because I'm smart like that and I would be married when I wanted because I plan like that. And I would be young and beautiful and fresh faced in all of my pictures and everyone that came to my wedding would congratulate me on my wonderful success of graduating head of the marriageable class. A++ to me. And years down the road my beautiful, smart, well planned children would look at pictures of that day and talk about how awesome and young and Audrey Hepburn-esque I am. Extra credit, small child. Extra credit.
Reality, as you know well oh regular reader, has turned out somewhat differently. I'm at the point in my life where the Mormon community will breathe a sigh of relief if I ever get married at all. "That was a close one!" they will say. "Dodged a bullet!!" they'll add. "Thank goodness they found each other. How wonderful." If I do get married, it won't be purely an occasion of celebration. It will also be an event tinged heavily with relief. "Glad that's over." they'll think. "You finally made it!" they'll write on the cards. And my pictures will feature an "older" dress because the younger styles will look weird and pretentious on me. (Business suit, anyone?) My friends with their 3-4 children will come and I will smile awkwardly back. From where I sit now, I totally wish that elopement was a culturally acceptable option for an overaged Mormon woman still navigating blind date waters. Then I could disappear for a year and everyone could just forget the whole thing ever happened and treat me like normal.
So. In the name of trying to forget not really significant birthdays that are still a little bit significant in the not so great way: I am laughing at this, very appreciative of the advice offered here (especially the part about giving me dating advice if you got married at 18. Completely different ball game now, y'all), and thanking my lucky stars that I am, on the whole, happy as a social menace (thanks a ton, Brigham). I'm quite content with my independent ability to grow old while traveling instead of changing diapers and cleaning up vomit volcanoes. Look on the bright, bodily fluid (and fart) free side of life, right? Of course right.