After 25: Taking Stock

Turning 25 was a milestone for me.  Maybe because it's divisible by 5 and I have always enjoyed the 5s in the multiplication tables...so easy....and you can sing them to the tune of Yankee Doodle, starting with 5x5.  (I know you're humming it right now.)  Maybe because 25 is solidly in the 20s and after this it's rounding up to 30, which is truly unimaginable.  Maybe because it totally snuck up on me.  My birthday was months ago but since then I've been taking stock.

I have always suspected that my real personality is that of an 80 year old.  And a fussy, routine-oriented 80 year old at that.  My loving husband confirms this theory. I like prunes, practical shoes, overwhelmingly high thermostat temperatures and libraries.  However, I do not like floral patterns, knee-high nylons and coffee.
I have tried to fight the inner octogenarian but finally realized at 25, there is no escape.  I feel simultaneously that I have reached an acceptable age where my old lady traits can be expressed and also that 25 launched me into a whole new definition of old.  Like listening to country music.  Willingly.  Like having to order things in Petite sizes.  Unwillingly.  Like clucking my tongue and shaking my head when I saw a girl get off the school bus in a snowstorm wearing skinny jeans and slip-on peep-toe heels.  Kids these days.

I am the youngest on my team at work and also the youngest in our office.  When my team found out, they said "...25. You're a baby." and my response was, "I'm 25! I'm not a baby!"  It's a strange age, where some things are settled and some things are not.  Some of my peers are just getting married.  Some are already having les kiddos.  And some are hitting up match service sites and belatedly realizing that 3 of their 4 matches are spam accounts.

No judgement here.  Those spammers are good at their jobs.

At 25, I'm happy.  I have a husband who is pretty much the bomb, lots of good books on my To Read list, an interesting blogroll and collection of podcasts and enough interest in dabbling to keep me busy through the winter months.  Turns out that 25 is not as bad as I thought.  And neither is country music, bless it's twangy little heart.