How’s this for a numbers story? In six days, on the first of February, I will be twenty-six years old. That’s a quarter of a century plus one. A quarter and a penny. If you live for twenty-five years, and then live one more, how old are you?
I really liked turning 25. 25 is a good number: I’m still young, but not so much of a baby. It’s a well-rounded number. It sounds good, it looks good. 26 is scary. 26 is getting close to 30. 26 is the gateway year to 27, 28, 29… It makes me realize that I won’t be young forever, and that I will be getting old way before I am ready. I don’t want to be old. I want to stay young forever! Ahhhh. Even the title of this prompt supports that thought.
That is all I will say about my age, I won’t obsess about it or spend any more time and/or internet space on how 25 is better than 26. Because when it comes down to it, I love my birthday. I love celebrating it and presents and cake. As long as I have a good time, it really doesn’t matter how old I am.