So, tomorrow is the big day, the day I turn thirty. Jeez, I cringe when I say that word--thirty. Thirty, thirty, thirty. I guess I better get used to hearing it--I'm going to be in my thirties for ten more years. And then what do I have to look forward to? Forty? Shudder.

Not that there's fundamentally anything wrong with thirty or forty. It's just going to take a little getting used to. Most of my adult life has been frittered away in my twenties; I'm used to being twentysomething. It's been an okay decade. I'm a little sad to see it slip away.

Of course, I still look sixteen, which is always a plus. And I'm not deluding myself so I can feel better about being thirty: last August I was carded at a bar and the bouncer nearly had a cardiac arrest. He laughed and laughed at my ID and said, "Damn girl--you look good! I thought you were sixteen!" If I wasn't feeling good before that comment, you can bet I was flying high after.

So. Thirty. It won't be so bad, right? Please say it won't.