20

I am 20 today but I wasn’t 20 yesterday. Yesterday (oh, try so hard not to yearn for yellow yesterday) I was 19, which means approximately nothing to anyone.

I am doing 20 things at once now, count them: breathing, blinking, thinking, typing, licking my lips, digesting my dinner, curling my toes, sweating slightly, thinking still (a different thought here), looking at this page–oh, don’t count them, just take my word. I’m 20 now, so this means I am more credible.

It also means I can begin complaining about those damned teenagers! Teenagers today, those tempered, tarnished toons! And they’re always on their phones, which we never are (you and I), because we’re adults and know how to see the world around us, and we won’t stoop to such sloth-ish pastimes as the internet–no, not even to read a blog.

Maybe now I can develop some valued opinions. Previously (when I was 19), I believed some things about the world, but they were based on the whimsical winds of my witless emotions, and other garbage I gathered from the wastebasket of lies on the web. Fortunately now I can express my thoughts and they will be respected because they are backed by the experience I have gained in one day.

Oh, but gentle storm clouds come to pollute my happy sky. Some stalwart sadist will insist I’m just a juvenile still, won’t see me for my sophistication. They’ll believe my badge of 20 is a fake, that I possess the prayers of children even now. Well, I will show them. I will demonstrate my devious docility. I will show them that I am not bitter at all. Brittany? Not bitter at all, not even a bit. Adults aren’t bitter (they’re too mature for that), and remember: I am 20 now. Not bitter at all.

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