Yes, as many of you might already know, I celebrated my 27th birthday today. The fact that I’m fast approaching 30 is bewildering to me, as I’ve yet to shake my boyish affection for comic books, action figures, video games and various other pursuits deemed childish by the more “sophisticated” among us.
Furthermore, since the anniversary of my birth coincided with a snowstorm this year, I’ve been bombarded with the phrase “plowing difficulties” all day on the news and yet am somehow expected not to laugh. Because, you know, I’m 27. An adult. Mature.
But shouldn’t 27 be the year I finally act my age? Well, as C.S. Lewis once said, “When I became a man, I put aside all childish things, including the fear of childishness and the desire to be very grown up.”
So one could say my “plow”-related giggling is a sign of exceptional maturity. So suck it, universe.