It's not the years, honey...

One of my best friends turned 30 yesterday. In fact, he's the first of my really close friends to hit that milestone; I have other friends who reached that age long ago, of course, but none that I grew up with. And even though he's two years and some odd weeks older than me, it's still a rather sobering reminder that the big three decade mark is closer than I like to think. It's not even that big a deal... I mean, just an arbitrary number, right? I could have a heart attack tomorrow (but please, Lord, do me a solid and forget about all those bacon cheeseburgers, 'kay?), whereas there are 70-year-old grandparents out there who've never been sick a day in their lives. I think it's just the change in attitude that goes along with it, y'know? It brings the whole aging/maturity thing home in a way that going to your 10-year high school reunion or, oh, having a child somehow don't. Maybe it's the comforting mindset of "Sure, I've been out of college for 6 years and I have a job and I'm married, but I'm still young. I never would, but technically I could start over from scratch if I wanted to. Nobody calls me 'sir' yet." But once you hit 30 you're no longer a promising anything (statement void for doctors), you're not a youngster whose mistakes can be forgiven, nobody expects you to show up for work bleary-eyed because they just assume you were out drinking last night. Now you have to face the horrible, gut-wrenching realization that the interns you're giving instructions to don't remember where they were when Kurt Cobain died because it probably involved apple juice and Duck Duck Goose. Oh, and those Playboy centerfolds? Remember when their dates of birth were, like, in the '70s and that was pretty cool because they were older women? Well, now they would look at your younger siblings and say, "Ew, way too ancient for me. No thanks, LOL!" Enjoy.

It's still a couple years down the line, so I'll continue to enjoy my late 20s secure in the knowledge that no way, my hairline is definitely not receding, uh-uh. But I swear, the next time I don't get carded at the liquor store, I'm reaching over the counter and grabbing that smug punk who doesn't even know who He-Man is for God's sake, and giving him a piece of my mind. As long as I don't trip over my walker.