I know it’s hard to believe someone this sizzling is 48, but I really am. And right here is where I’m glad you’re reading this and can’t see me, because there is every possibility that if you saw me, you’d say, “Yeah. She looks about 48.” To which I say, "Shut up!"
But that is not my point. My point is that I am 48 — almost 48 and a half, sadly — and I work with mostly young people. By “young,” I mean people in their 20s. Our office is full of the fun and the joking and the 22-year-olds peppering every sentence with “like” for no good reason. I enjoy it. Totally.
But here is what I was hoping — I was hoping to kind of live vicariously through them. I mean, this crowd I work with are a depressingly good-looking lot. And they all have the social skills down pat. I mean, these youngsters are kind of a winning team.
And see? The part where I called them “youngsters” — like I’m your grandma and in a minute I’m gonna lick my Kleenex and wipe your face — tells you a little something about how far removed I am from hot, hep people in their 20s. But I do recall being in my 20s, and to tell you the truth, it was plenty debaucherous.
So, on Mondays, I’m forever pressing my coworkers for weekend information, hoping for tales of one-night stands and illicit drugs and two-day-long parties. “How was your weekend?” I’ll ask the young Mr. Handsome who sits across from me. “Oh, it was pretty great,” he’ll say. “I got to bed, like, early to get to the sunrise yoga, and then the next day I went on a brutal hike. Then I made, like, a big salad and got to bed so I’d be good for today.”
He once told me he used to live it up in college, but after awhile he got tired of “drinking three or four nights a week” and cut it out with the excessive partying. THREE OR FOUR NIGHTS A WEEK? The only time I ever cut it back to three nights a week was when I had the flu.
“Hey, didja do anything fun this weekend?” I’ll ask the exotic, dark-haired 23-year-old woman I work with. “I did! I got a lot of painting done on my new place," she said, "and I spent, like, three hours at Bed, Bath & Beyond looking for window treatments.”
What is with this generation? I mean, like (see what I did, there), is it this whole generation? Or is it the people I work with? Because I somehow made friends with this couple who are in their late 20s, and they both work really hard and cook organically and every time we get together, the evening ends up with them teaching me how to cut an avocado or giving me tips on saving money. They’re decades more mature than me — and 20 years younger.
The entire time I was in my 20s, I had a credit rating of .002 and a blood-alcohol level of 795. I barely made it in to work and couldn’t wait to get out at 5 p.m. to do all sorts of wild things. I thought that’s what your 20s were for. And even now, at the age of (sizzling) 48, I’m doing way more wild things than this young crowd. Things I’d love to tell you about, but my mother reads these posts. These people could be roommates with their moms and there’d be nothing for them to be ashamed of.
I told one of my coworkers how I was writing this post about how people who are younger than me seem to be more focused, more healthy and way, way less drunk. “Do you think it’s your whole generation?" I asked him, "Or just the people I happen to know?”
“I think its just you,” he said.
Now, that I hadn’t thought of.
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