Hiya, thirties.

Today, the first digit on my age changes from a two to a three and I have one thing to say about it: Hell yes.

It’s not that my twenties weren’t great, because they were. I did some pretty neat stuff over the last decade, and said stuff was awesome. I guess I should give my twenties a high five before I say farewell completely, but once that’s done…really, go away twenties.

I’m all about this next decade in much the same way that my dog is all about food: I want it – big time. You see, I’m hoping that my thirties are the start of something new. I want them to change the way people see at me – and I think it actually might happen! I can’t make it through another decade without finally looking my age, can I?

Yep, I just want to look as old as I am – and I think this is the decade where it’s going to happen.

I’m not saying that I want to look old, per se. I look forward to sporting Betty White’s wisdom wrinkles one day (I swear that each crease harbours more wit than most of us can ever hope to have), but not quite yet. Right now, I’d settle for not getting IDed at the liquor store.

Yeah, yeah, I keep hearing that I’ll like it one day, but you know what? I made it through my twenties without that happening. Somehow, being asked for two pieces of ID by someone who has just been talking about how they can’t wait to finally move out of their parents’ house isn’t flattering. It makes me wonder if they actually think I’m under nineteen.

Maybe they do actually think I’m still in high school. Some of the hapless teenage guys who follow me in the hall seem to. I’ve taken to walking with my teacher keys dangling next to me (instead of around my neck) in an attempt to curb the “Whoa! That’s a teacher, man.” and “Dude! She’s a teacher!” comments that occur once they determine whose ass they’ve been staring at. I’m counting on you to give my tush some sag, thirties.

Give me some wrinkles. Make my skin lose elasticity. Do whatever you need to do to make me look my age – not because I don’t appreciate my youth, but because I want to show my life.

I want to look in a mirror and see reminders of my adventures. I want to walk into a room and make people wonder what experiences I’ve had and what mistakes I’ve made. I want to show my age, and I want to wear it with pride.

Each wrinkle by my eye or crease by my mouth isn’t evidence of a youth lost – it’s proof of a life lived.

So, farewell, twenties. We’ve had some good times, but I’m ready for what’s coming next.