A few weeks ago, my husband and I decided to grab dinner at Gusto in the
I’ve never been one to age gracefully. At nineteen, I was convinced that I was getting wrinkles. At twenty-two, I felt sorry for one of my roommates because he was so much older than I was. At the time, he was the debilitating age of twenty-six. As I entered my late twenties, I dreaded the possibility of being single and turning thirty. Of course, I was completely unattached as I waved goodbye to my twenties. Then earlier this summer, I entered my late thirties and forty is now calling out to me like an evil siren.
We all know aging is the best case scenario. It’s the fortunate ones who get to discover the grey hairs, the wrinkles and the sun damage. But still, I just got my invitation to my fifteen year Tulane college reunion. Are they serious? Wasn’t it just a few years ago that I was peeing with my girlfriends behind the bank at Rendon Inn so we didn’t have to wait in the bathroom line or playing pop-a-shot at Fat Harry’s or dancing and mugging at A.T.’s? Turns out, Rendon Inn is no longer the night’s destination for college kids and A.T.’s (along with those cheese fries) is gone. Sigh.
At least, my husband and my two daughters still think I’m young, fun and cool. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want to be seventeen again. Even if I could eat at restaurants like Gusto on my parent’s credit card. I had too much anxiety back then. But I would definitely take just one more