I turned 24 last month, and have been metaphorically hit over the head with the discovery that sometime between being walked in on by my boyfriend's dorm mate at age 18 and my aunt inviting some guy to Christmas Eve dinner "for me to meet" at age 24: I have failed as a person.
Yes, it's true. Apparently I am a failure because I have not yet found my life partner.
I have to be honest, you guys. I didn't see this coming. Not when I broke up with my "artist" (read: trust fund baby) boyfriend because he had no ambition, and certainly not when I decided it would be a good idea to encourage him to wine and dine me. Alas, it seems as though I have reached the point in life at which it's no longer acceptable to casually date your ex-boyfriends.
I mean - how could I have known that age 24 was the age at which people officially started worrying about cat lady status? I would have thought that would be more like 34.
Even though I was not expecting this revelation, being the type of "get up and go" gal I fancy myself to be, once I found out I am a failure in life, I was like - let's do this.
And so it began...
