He was a drummer in my cousin's band. Sure, he was squat and hairy, but I'll never forget that moment he professed my future. I was an awkward 13 year old trying too hard. He said, "You're gonna be a real heart breaker someday, honey. " He took a drag from his cigarette and tightened his bolo tie. I walked on clouds of confidence for months, if not years, in hopes of some truth to that conversation. It wasn't until my twenties that I had enough dates to actually consider breaking hearts. And it wasn't until my twenties that I discovered things like fearlessness, unbridled passion, and sex appeal. I know what you're thinking and no, I never worked as a prostitute. I just metamorphosized into something other than Kafka's cockroach, and I enjoyed it. But you can never truly appreciate what you had until you're standing in the checkout aisle in yesterday's pajamas, infant on hip, obligatory bags below eyes and find yourself staring at the perfectly shaped buns of some college girl in front of you. Which calls to mind a few differences between life in my twenties and life today: lingerie with snaps and flaps is now for "let downs" instead of pick ups, now I'm the one giving the lectures, "routine bedtime" is no longer an insult, and my convertible is a car seat, not a car. Oh, yeah, and the term "youth" only applies to me in the form of night cream. Here's to growing old.