An Open Letter To My 30th Birthday
You’re supposed to be just a number. An even, two-digit number that just so happens to rhyme with “dirty” — nothing more. So why do I continue to look at you with such trepidation and disdain?
You’re supposed to be just a number. An even, two-digit number that just so happens to rhyme with “dirty” — nothing more. So why do I continue to look at you with such trepidation and disdain?