ain't no spring chicken no mo

i'm sure you've heard me lament from time to time about getting old. my knees hurt. my feet hurt. my head hurts. i have 3 gray hairs upon my head. i don't have the same desires i used to (i'm talking about staying out late oogling cute boys at the bar people and that's the only desire i mean).

this weekend, in the midst of my lamentations to my mother, i had an epiphany. What if I just start telling everyone I'm only 26, instead of 29? I mean, I do still take my laundry home on occasion (ok, ok, so on every occasion that involves me staying overnight) and I love hitting the ole pops up for some cash money. Because she is nothing if not supportive, my mother replied with "well Meredith, that sounds like a good idea. You probably wouldn't feel so bad about yourself if you were younger."

So just like I used to throw my mama under the bus when I didn't want to do something my friends wanted me to do - you know, the old "my mama said I can't" excuse - I am gonna say that next time you ask how old I am, and I tell you I'm 26, it's because my mother said it was ok.

I already know being young is going to feel so good. Why even now, I have a spring in my step and a gleam in my eye (not to be confused with santy clause. because he's old. and i am not).