The big 2-1. Unlimited access to clubs and bars. Glasses of wine with dinner and fancy, pink drinks with friends. Permanent access to the grown-up table at Thanksgiving.
Even though I’m not a drinker, I had high expectations for my twenty-first birthday. Maybe because I live in a city that requires a horizontal ID to get in anywhere from concerts to comedy clubs, or maybe because I have a weird maturity complex (I hate feeling stupid or young), but, for whatever reason, I was dying to have access to a world of big kids and fun times I’ve felt left out from for years.
And so naturally, because I was both looking forward to something and hopelessly cynical, I was sure that my birthday couldn’t live up to all of my wild expectations. (Birthdays are usually like New Years or your Bat Mitzvah: a lot of hype for a party that just stresses you out and lets you down.)
But I’m happy to report that, although my actual birthday was nice, albeit unspectacular, being a legal adult is everything I expected.
I can go (almost) anywhere in New York, and now there’s nothing I love more than a strict bouncer at a crowded bar. To all you almost legal adults, you really should get psyched for the big 2-1…I’ll buy you a drink!
