I met up The Boy and some of his friends this weekend. They were all rather nice. Though I wish they didn’t make such a big deal about my age-their age. I mean, I am 23, not five. And they are 26, not 145. I dislike people who make a big deal about their age. Being an ageist (no matter which end one is partial to) is as bad as most other negative isms. In spite of their alleged maturity, I felt like their grandmother for the most part.
The good thing in all of this was that The Boy told me that he thought of me as the fumiest and funnest person ever. He was just a little tipsy when he said that, but I am basking and positively glowing because of that.
It annoys me when I feel happy. It is boring and I know that it will be short-lived.
We guys just make sure that we make fun of our ripe old age before the younger kid notices it and sets her crossfire on that number. I dont think its to put down anyone; what else can we mean other than say you are pretty young while we are past our prime. After all, self-deprecation is a lot more easier than any other joke.
Self deprecation sucks.