“Check on your 1989 friends, they’re turning 30 this year.”

Freshman year of high school, my History teacher busted ass in the cafeteria. Her lunch tray flew in the air and splattered everyone within a 5ft radius. Once we got back to the classroom, someone said to her, “OMG HOW EMBERRASING LOLZ” (Back then, all LOLing was done with a ‘Z’ at the end.)

She responded, “Not really, I’m at the age where things like that don’t embarrass me”.

THIS. STUCK. WITH. ME.

Like, there’s an age where embarrassment goes away?! She seemed ancient to me at the time, so of course I was like ‘dear god I have to wait until I’m 60 for this lovely trait to kick in’. In retrospect, she was probably 30 or something.

I turn 30 this year, y’all! And I am here to tell you that she is right… Sort of.

You will eventually stop caring what people think of you. If you bust your face in front of a group of people, it won’t matter. Honestly, you’ll probably forget about it by the end of the day unless you bruised something.

For the life of me, I can’t think of any publicly embarrassing stories as an example. I guess there was that one time a tampon got stuck *up there*, and I yanked so hard It ended up smacking me in the forehead, leaving a tampon shaped outline. Sadly, no one witnessed this gem of a moment since I was in a stall. Darn. Even if someone had seen my freshly branded forehead,  I AM ALMOST 30, BITCH, AND I DON’T CARE NO MO!

Another perk of getting older?

I know that I like stretchy nylon/spandex no-show underwear and not cotton. I know ‘relaxing baths’ are not actually relaxing to me. I know what foods I like, what drinks I like, and being on top while having sex.

I’m wiser and healthier. I know who I am and what I want. I can afford an Uber if I get hammered on a Tuesday. I’m all growed up, y’all.

Maybe now my parents will actually take me seriously and realize I’m not a teenage idiot. HA! Who am I kidding?

So no need to check on us, guys. We are doing better than fine.

Oh, but hangovers get worse. A friendly warning.