Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Christmas Cake, Part One; The Sulking.

So, I'm officially OLD.

No, for serious. I'm almost 25. Which means I'm 25% of 100, 1/3 of being statistically dead, and over the official "hump." But all this aging has got me thinking about the little things in life- after all, they're all that counts at the end of the day.

One thing in particular is the evolution of my purse over the years. Now, I was not what you'd call a stereotypical teenager growing up- I hated the idea of carrying my belongings around in some designer skin-sack like all the other girls in my age group. For a SIGNIFICANT amount of time, I rebelled quietly, by only using a burlap bag, that any hippy would have been proud to own. It was small, convenient, and had a tiny green elephant on the cover. I loved that bag. People would look at me funny when I referred to it as my 'purse' (since it was so obviously NOT a purse), and I would feel something resembling smug satisfaction towards them and the whole goddamn situation. Life was good, and I continued this charade until well past my 19th year...

And then my mom got f*cking creative one Christmas and bought me a real purse. She was probably sick of seeing her grown-up little girl carrying around a dirty hippy sack. But I've gotta hand it to her; it was beautiful, black, and leather, and far larger than I thought I could ever possibly need. Compared to my little tote bag, it looked like it could carry entire libraries inside of itself. I tried to fight it desperately, but I loved that new purse. It was SUPER PRETTY. But out of misplaced teenage-defiance, I refused to use it for another 6 months... until one day, my lip gloss held a rebellion inside that little purse... all over EVERYTHING.

And ever since then, I started acting like a real human. Compared to my 15 year old self, I now carry something of an arsenal with me at all times. I've got pretty much anything I could ever possibly want at any time with me, and I think that's part of growing up. You want band-aids? I've got them. Post-it notes? No problem. Metallic blue eyeliner? Probably.

What's worse is that I now own MORE THAN ONE PURSE. Which I think is, in itself, a ridiculous concept. Why does a girl need more than one receptacle to carry her sh*t around in? Surely one is enough??? But the fact that I use more than one is evidence that I'm growing up, almost against my own will. It's a love-hate relationship. It's a first-world problem.

So I'm turning 25 and I'm clearly having a small mental breakdown. Which is most likely going to manifest itself as a self-absorbed pitty-party on the internets. Because that's what My Generation does. Deal.

À bien tôt.

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