Now here’s a scary thought . . . .

I turn 20 in less than 15 days.

Years ago, this used to be the age that, once attained, meant almost full and complete grownupness (everyone knows that’s a real word–and there’s no hyphen between grownup…all one word…say it real fast). Now it just means that I have more to worry about, more to be held responsible for, and less time to daydream about it. At the ripe age of 7, playtime often involved fantastical plots of what life would be like when I was “grownup” (you know….18, 19, 20–because for an 8-year-old that is pretty much an adult). These storylines ran along the lines of “A Day At College–Where Margaret Will be Cool and Popular” or “A Day at Margaret’s Cool Adult Job” or even “Playing House Like Barbie and Ken — The Saga Continues”. Not to say that those little games were completely unrealistic, (because everyone knows I’m as cool and popular as you get) but you really have to take things with a grain of salt–a rather hefty grain–once you hit 18 years. There are still some things that I’m not grownup enough for–like living in my own home/apartment, having a full time job, buying alcohol, moving to Guam….but that’s really okay. I’ve decided now is the time to savour the fact that, at least for a little while longer, I’m too young. ‘Cause before I know it, I might be too old.