A recent photo of my sister and I.
This may come as a shock to all of you, but we Yazges are not forever young. I realize that it appears as if we float about like those immortal elves from the Lord of the Rings movies, or perhaps Charlize Theron, never getting older, but instead looking even more beautiful with each passing day (and promoting Chanel fragrances in our spare time). Unfortunately, a recent string of events has proven in a rather public manner that we no longer hold the answer to eternal youth.
First off, I turned 24. Only the most frightening age a person could ever be. I worked for an entire year to avoid getting any older than 23, but it was all to no avail; I’m officially in my mid-20’s. It’s all downhill from here. I’ve also accepted a new job within my company, which means that I will no longer be in my “first job out of college.” I’m paying for things like health care and a 401k. Next thing you know, I’m going to need a hip replacement. This past weekend, I stayed in on both Friday AND Saturday night, and one of those nights I was asleep by 10:30 after watching When Harry Met Sally. The worst part? I thoroughly enjoyed it. I’ve officially turned into my mother.
Next, Alexis started college at IU. I’m not sure why they let her in, because in my mind she’s still the 3-year-old with cherry popsicle smeared all over her face. How can you expect a little girl like that to live in a dorm, when she can’t even change her own diaper? It’s going to be a literal shit show. Also, Indiana is a big campus. Even if she had her own little baby buggy or whatever contraption those Rugrats used to use on Nickelodeon to escape their parents, I’m not sure that she could navigate such a sprawl. I already got a phone call from her that it took a half an hour to take the bus from campus to the mall. But in all reality, I think I have to admit that my sister is getting older, as I suspect that she was only going to the mall to power walk with other local seniors and complain about how all the hooligans wear their pants too low.
Lastly, I would be remiss if I left out my little nugget of a grandmother: Sitto. She recently had a rather large contraption installed in the house that pumps high concentrations of oxygen into her little nugget-lungs. I don’t know that I believe her when she says it’s prescribed by her doctor. I know my grandmother, and if there’s a way she could get an oxygen high, I wouldn’t put it past her. This is the lady that helped me down an entire pitcher of Sangria at Easter two years ago. Apparently there are oxygen tubes snaked all over the house, so that she can get her quick oxygen fix anytime and anywhere she needs it. What a junkie…