Recently it was speculated that, based solely off the way I looked, my age was fifteen. Yeah, yeah, I know, Phoeb, let it go already. I have, actually, I just find it funny to bring up now. Because today I turned twenty-two. Twenty-two is quite a ways away from fifteen-- seven whole years, in fact.
I suppose I should be pleased with this, especially if this trend holds as I get older. I imagine it could be nice to be continually mistaken for seven years younger than I actually am. It probably has more to do with my flat hips and the fact that I don't wear makeup than any real youthful glow, but I can hope, can't I?
I'm not really big into celebrating birthdays once you pass a certain age, and I passed that age a long time ago. So I'm not making a big deal of this one. I'm planning on making dinner tonight, 'cause cooking is fun for me and I've missed it. My parents got me a couple nice gifts of things I actually wanted and have use for. They're going to get me a new phone today because I actually need one. The loving text message Jared sent me is the sort of thing I really want. A little bit of genuine love and gladness that I happened to be born is more than enough.
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