When I Grow Up (To Be a… Man?)

I don’t consider myself to be a woman.  Allow me to clarify.  No matter how many birthdays pass me by I’ve yet to feel grown up.  Some might argue that living on my own would make me grown but… not really.  I still muster the phrase “When I grow up I want to (insert objective here)”.  I have a huge birthday looming, in less than 3 weeks I’ll be turning twenty-five.  This is a serious age, if I had car insurance my rates would deplete with the weight of trust heaving onto me.  I’ve lived a quarter of a century.  Some might say (I would) I’m mid-life.  Still when I catch myself referring to myself as a woman I giggle on the inside.  I feel as though I’m pretending.  “Look how cute. She thinks she’s a grown up.” Says my brain.  Jewish girls proclaim to the world that they’re woman at 12… so what am I waiting for?

I’m not scared.  A lot of people I know (my boyfriend) went a little insane after turning twenty-five .  The pressure to grow up gets the best of them.  I don’t feel it, but then again maybe it’s lurking, just waiting to jump out from behind the couch and consume my sanity.  At this point I’d have to admit I’m looking forward to aging.  Maybe I’m already insane…

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