When I was eight, I longed to be ten with all my heart. Ten meant old enough to stay up and watch Fantasy Island and Three’s Company. When I was twelve, stuck in the doldrums of tweenagerness before there was such a thing as tweenagerness, the aura of sixteen was magical. Sixteen meant boyfriends and formal dances and a learner’s permit. At sixteen, mired in the muck of teenage hormones and high school heartaches, eighteen couldn’t come fast enough. Eighteen meant emancipation, college, freedom from the borders of a small town. At eighteen, the lure of twenty-one was temptingly within reach. And then…..then it just becomes a blur; jobs, college loans, relationships, marriage, life insurance, kids, mortgages, wills and more paperwork than you ever thought possible. Who knew that being a grown up would involve so many forms, so many things filed in triplicate, so many signatures?
The wedding years were fun, lots of travel…
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