Twenty minutes later, the professor, some accounting guy named Ed, is full swing into describing capital budgets and net income increasing over five years and blah blah blah, when he says, "Oh, and a bit of a personal question. I know there are two Stephanies in this class. Did one of you go to ---- Academy?"
With a look of concern and befuddlement, I timidly raised my hand. Why does my professor know where I went to high school? Why is he asking me in the middle of capital budgets?
"Oh!" he said. "My son goes there."
"Oh?!" I said. "How bizarre." Around me, my classmates giggled and whispered "small world" to one another.
"What year did you graduate?" Ed asked me.
"Uh...1997."
"Oh, well my son's a senior." Ed nodded and smiled, and I returned the vague gesture, acknowledging a shared moment. And although our chat ended there, and Ed returned to dividend yields, I had the following panic-stricken inner monologue:
1997. 1997. 2005. My god. I'm about to have a 10-year reunion. But I just went to the 5-year. How can it be 10 already? My god. I'll be 28 then. I always thought by 28 and my 10-year reunion I'd be somewhere. I thought I'd show up to the reunion with my husband and kids in tow. But that clearly isn't gonna happen. I mean, it's only 2 years away, and I don't even have boyfriend. I'm not even dating anyone. I don't have time! It's highly unlikely that I'm going to find someone, like them, fall in love with them, marry them, and bear their children in the next 2 years. I mean, I guess it's possible, especially considering that everyone else in my family is getting married based on an average relationship time of about 17 minutes. So 2 years isn't all that crazy. But god. 2007! 28 years old! Where is the time going? What am I doing?
AUGH!
When I snapped to, Ed had moved on to debt ratios, but I was stuck on some ratios of my own. In a few weeks, I'll be 26, which means I have to round up, so it's the same as 30. I'll spend the next 4 years being 30. In my mind, I'm still 19 or 20, just sort of floundering around trying to get some footing in this world. I just started life over in New York, I'm still broke, I'm back in school, my job blows, and it turns out men in New York also have their thumbs up their asses. I guess some things never change. And I guess that I'm not going to have the luxury apartment with the giant wall of books and charming spiral staircase that I share with my fantastically handsome husband and our brilliant crew of children--not yet. Maybe hoping for all that by 28 was silly. Maybe for my 15-year reunion. Maybe when I'm 33.
My god. I'm practically 40.
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5 comments:
Hello???
Hey, my mother has been telling me for years now that "...you are just about mt age now" and, my dear, you are now almost MY age!
Well, I'm glad you made it!
Seventeen minutes my ass!
...in any case, it's not something you need to rush into. Take it from someone who knows! ;)
Karen says:
Hey, Steph - this might make you feel better. As of today, I am 44. Rounding up, that's 45, or 50 depending on how you're rounding. Scaaaa-ry! And in my mind, I'm somewhere around 24, unless I'm dealing with my parents. Then I'm somewhere around 12. Or 6, depending on the circumstance. Or 80 if I hang out with them and their problems for too long. I didn't have a husband for my 10th reunion either... because we had gotten divorced. But you've made no such error in life. You're single, you've earned one degree and are on your way to another, you're self-sufficient, and you have great shoes because you're not tied down financially or otherwise by a gaggle of urchins who came along before you had a chance to explore life and your potential as an individual. I'm betting a lot of your former classmates would be envious. :-)
And Steph, we ALL know that shoes really do count!
Shoes are better than men OR sex! The satisfaction from a new pair of shoes lasts more than just an hour!
Yikes Jessica - you have sex for an hour? I might take that over a new pair of shoes...
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