maverik

A few weeks ago I was making painful small talk (all small talk is painful, PS) with a coworker (who is no longer my coworker because I, well, you know the story) about a certain college course. I was, like, "Yeah! Great class! I took that almost 14 years ago." WHAT THE HELL. I started college almost 14 years ago? If all had gone right and I had been a teen mom, I could have a child with a driver's license right now. My child could drive me to work. My child, in five years, can buy his mama a six-pack at the Maverik. It bugs me that it's spelled without a C. But if it bugs me so much, why did I name my son Maverik?

So it turns out I don't have a 16-year-old. I don't have a lot of things people around my age have. No children, no spouse, no house, no salary, no fence, no sensible work shoes, no slacks, no briefcase or favorite football team or wine cabinet or dog named Spotty or minivan with stick figure decals. None of that. Do I care? Sometimes, but only about some of those things. I mostly just wish I had a house and a salary to pay for said house. A fence would be nice for Spotty to have, although I wouldn't name a dog Spotty. I'd probably name him Jimmy or Woofus Wainwright. And for the love of Christ, let me soon be the proud owner of a pair of sensible shoes with incredible arch support. Other than those five things, I don't miss much of what I'm "supposed to have" at the almost-rotten age of 31. Thirty-one and a half.

I am still waiting for my Flirty Thirties to begin. I figure it is a rough transition from the 20s to the 30s, so I will give myself a year or two to adjust. Perhaps the flirtatiousness and over-abundance of confidence is right around the corner? Gleich um die ecke. That means "just around the corner" in German. I think. It's the only thing I remember about my German classes in high school. You know, the classes I took over 16 years ago. RIGHT around the time I was being impregnated with Maverik. Ach mein Gott!

There is a very small part of me that believes 2016 will be the year I metaphorically release my hair from a conservative bun, strip off my coke-bottle glasses, unbutton a few of the top buttons on my form-fitting dress shirt, and become the sexy, self-assured 30something I was born to be. Keep your fingers cross while I uncross my legs WINK WINK. In the meantime, I'll be over here shopping online for a pair of classic leather loafers.