My birthday falls on a Friday this year, so we thought it’d be fun to take off for a long weekend. We had grand dreams of Vegas with our friends… until their jobs landed in purgatory. I am sure D and I would have a great time by ourselves, however, I think the first big Vegas weekend of my life should be with a gang of people. Right?
So on the way to work this morning, we tossed around some other options for just the two of us.
“We could always plan a big Vegas weekend for your 30th birthday next year,” D said. “That might make more sense.”
Next year. Fourteen months.
If you’re a woman in your 30s, you probably know which rabbit hole I fell into. And damn, I got panicky.
I feel like I’m running out of time! To do crazy stuff with my friends — and to do myself any favors when it comes to biology.
I feel like I’m running out of time and it blows f*cking goats.