You’d Think By Twenty-Seven

You’d think by 27, I’d have figured out how to not spill water all over myself like I did this morning.

You’d think by 27, I’d have learned how to not oversleep.

You’d think by 27, I’d have figured out what to do with my hair. Today so far, I have straightened it, put a headband in it, taken the headband out, put the headband back in, taken the headband out and put bobby pins in it, taken the bobby pins out and tried braiding a portion of it, only to finally just wear it down and let it do what it wants. All before 9 a.m.

You’d think by 27, I’d have found my shade of lipstick. Or at least learned how to wear lipstick without feeling like a five year old who just raided her mom’s makeup case.

You’d think by 27, I’d have my dream job. Or at least make enough to not count my pennies and feel that buying new underwear at Target is a splurge.

You’d think by 27, I’d have a house full of playful kittens who all love each other along with the one neurotic old grumphead cat I currently have. Some day…

You’d think by 27, I would have at least something to show for my passion for writing besides a weird blog I sometimes write in and a movie review blog with a grand total of three movie reviews.

You’d think by 27, I’d know how to walk in heels. Or walk in flats, for that matter.

You’d think by 27, there would be nothing left for me to pin on Pinterest (just kidding, there’s always more to pin).

You’d think by 27, I’d have stopped envying other girls for the way they looked and learn to take care of my body properly.

You’d think by 27, I’d have learned which Instagram filter is the most flattering, and never to get on the Facebook because it just pisses me off every time.

You’d think by 27, I’d be better at time management.

You’d think by 27, I’d know that eating $15 of Taco Bell will make me sick.

You’d think by 27, I’d have learned the value of spending time every day alone with God and actually do it.

You’d think by 27, I’d know how to not be awkward when opening presents in front of people.

You’d think by 27, I’d have found my soulmate and someone who not only gets my sense of humour, but shares my sense of humour to a tee.

Oh wait, that last one has come true. 27, you’re too good to me.