It’s two days after my actual birthday, but it’s Saturday morning and thus still a vital part of the “Natal Month Festivities,” and I don’t have to work today–therefore, I should be lying on the couch or buried under a mound of pillows in my bed, nursing a hangover and planning the next phase of the celebration. Instead, I was up at 9, scrubbing my stovetop for no apparent reason other than it seriously needed it.
I can’t blame demonic possession, there has been no mezcal.
What has happened to me? Does growing up have to make you boring?And…and…tidy?