I hate to admit it, but twenty-eight is creeping up on me in a couple weeks, and I can’t help but be conscious of this black mark on the passage of time. I’m deeply aware real-time aging, in real time no less, all year round, but the month of May is always a particularly sensitive time. Because of my impending birthday, which draws me dangerously close to thirty, the signs of aging have become increasingly heightened.

• My knees hurt. For no reason. Maybe it’s going to rain?
• I want to buy multiple tubes of lipstick.
• In the morning I wake up with weird sleepy creases and wrinkles because I’m losing elasticity in my skin. I probably need to start a daily regime of bathing in Oil of Olay.
• After meeting with a financial advisor, I diversified my portfolio. I plan on taking my time to work through understanding exactly that means.
• Working out has become more about health than vanity.
• I’m learning to embrace shorts even though I hate my legs because dammit, it’s hot out.
• I fall asleep in movies, live theater, and bars…anywhere if it’s after 11pm.
• My alcohol tolerance is increasing, but my hangovers are getting worse.
• I wake up too early in the morning with anxiety about work.
• Blazers are really appealing to me.
• I’m really OK with not being a voice of my generation.
• Pimples take FOREVER to heal. Especially when they are right in the middle of my face.
• I don’t remember the last time I wore heels.
• My ten year high school reunion is this year.
• Spending $50 on dinner won’t make me choke.
• Ignoring that my parents are getting older is becoming unrealistic.
• I’M FLOSSING ON THE REG.
• I’m seriously considering a one-piece bathing suit this year.
• I have completely stopped caring about whether or not I have a tan.
• I finally broke down and bought tinted moisturizer AND primer.
• Caring about my cellulite is too exhausting.
• I take selfies on Instagram to tell you that I think I look good, not the other way around.
• My twenty-three year old friends feel like the little sisters I never had, and am in love with them.
• I swoon over nice appliances.
• Window-shopping houses in expensive neighborhoods is thrilling.
• Blow-drying my hair has been reduced to once every other month.
• I don’t worry about how successful I will be. I appreciate how successful I am today.

But mostly, I’m content. I’m just…feeling really OK with myself, and if that’s what getting older is all about, then bring it on.

We can just pretend like I didn’t eat three cookies before noon, like I’m not wearing contact lenses far past what the package recommends, like  I don’t have a Hello Kitty air freshener in my car, like I don’t actively watch ABC Family programming, like I didn’t spend too money on clothes this month, like I don’t pop my gum really obnoxiously in public, like I don’t say fuck in professional settings, like I didn’t accidentally wear a see through top to a financial to talk about my money, like I’m not still wearing a nose ring, and like I don’t still dream of being a soloist in the American Ballet Theater.

We can just pretend.