When I'm 24

I was teetering on the brink of panicking just a bit about entering what is really the last year of my "early twenties", when I realized how lovely and perfectly even a number twenty-four is. It's perfect. Two times twelve. I'm also pretty sure it's prime, but don't quote me on that. The point is, I love even numbers. I've loved them ever since my Algebra teacher turned my world upside down in middle school by trying to drive home the point that LETTERS played a role in MATH. Worlds collided and even numbers are obviously infinitely easier to divide. Even numbers and I really clicked there, despite the fact that so far, nothing I ever learned in a math classroom has proven to have resonated at all. Even numbers are good, odd numbers are bad. It just makes sense.

Upon quick recollection, I also realized that over the past ten years, I have reserved my poor choices to the odd ages almost exclusively. Age 15, I went to Catholic high school and learned the true meaning of wretched. Age 17, I "dated" a gnome. Age 19, I went to UMass and got a refresher course on that This Is The Meaning of Wretched course I took in high school. And so forth and so on, rest assured, 21 and 23 certainly did not disappoint. Granted, I'm sure I'm taking some liberties here, but fact is fact: that crap happened. Even ages rule, odd ages drool.

So bring it on, twenty-four. It's still pretty old, but I can deal. People who are twenty-four can still get away with things like theme parties where you dress up like a tramp from New Jersey; they just can't shotgun beers or pound shots of vodka quite like they could when they were twenty.