The Pressure! The Pressure!
As of noon on June 30, 2006, my husband and I handed our souls over to a certain mortgage company in exchange for a teensy weensy house in the south part of the city with a leaky basement and no range hood, bathroom fan, or washing machine drainpipe. Or, at least the mortgage company THINKS they have our souls; the fact is that we gave them away to the College Foundation years ago. *Sigh*.
Last week my friends and I were mourning the impending doom of our 30th birthdays, and I thought about how we all still thought of ourselves as being closer in age to 20 than to 30. It's as though a rubber band or bungee cord had kept us all attached to age 20, but as we get farther away from that year, our rubber band stretches tauter. For most of us, when we do turn 30, that rubber band will finally break and pop us all right in our asses. For some people, that rubber band will stretch on well into their 30s.
In my case, I'm fairly certain that the added weight of an entire house to my rubber band has ensured its imminent demise.