My Quarter Life Crisis

Those of you who have seen me lately may know that since my birthday I've been going through a quarter-life crisis of sorts. I've lived a quarter of a century, and what do I really have to show for it other than a bunch of prematurely gray hairs and a growing collection of ex-girlfriends? I haven't been to a doctor in over two years, but I recently discovered that, due to my age, my next physical checkup will involve someone probing my rectum. And things are only downhill from here.

Somewhat to my chagrin, other people my age are settling down, building nests, amounting mortgages, etc. I recently contacted a girlfriend from high school who told me that she is married with a kid now. When I dated her (almost 10 years ago!) she was captain of the cheerleaders. That's just weird. And a couple weeks ago an old chum called me at 3 AM from the hospital, where his wife had just given birth to his baby boy. I congratulated him through a lump in my throat.

But I was talking with a friend over the weekend, and she worked to comfort me somewhat. (She's 20, and she doesn't quite get any of this yet.) Here are the pros of turning 25...

I'm old enough to rent a car.

I am no longer considered a hazardous driving statistic, so my auto insurance rates should come down.

I feel about the same as I did when I was 24, but now the square root of me is 5.

I hate cake. And when you're 25 people stop numbering the candles on your cake. Instead, they buy two candles shaped like numbers (in this case, a "2" and a "5" of course), which are easier to light and less likely to drip wax onto the icing.

At least I still have half a decade before I'm 30.

So not all of it is bad, I suppose. I can't imagine what coming to terms with 30, or 40, or 50, is going to be like. Last time I saw my dad he bought some boardshorts with a giant Jamaican flag on the ass. I called him Rasta for the week. At least he's not buying a red Miata convertible.