Dear 25,
This is why I hate you.
Twenty-five years. That’s a whole quarter of a century. One fourth of one hundred years. It’s the age the characters in Friends were when the series started in 1994; it’s two years older than my parents were when they got married; and it’s the oldest age ever used to describe a divorcee’s hot young second wife. I turned 25 this year. I don’t live in New York with five of my best friends; I’m not married nor am I seeing anyone; and not that I would, but dammit, now I’ll probably never get to be the sexy young wife of a rich old dirt bag.
25, look at you. You are mid-to-late twenties. You are the numerical age at which a person instantly can’t go out every night without seeming like a drunk. You say I should be working a 9 to 5 job and investing in a 401k, I should definitely be on dating sites, as they say, you ain’t getting any younger and next stop is 30, and friends my age are having weddings and kids and buying homes and having playdates and hosting barbecues for their neighbors. What? No. I don’t want that. But 25 says if I’m not there, I’m not doing anything with my life. 25, you fucking blow.
Why have you earned such a bad rap, 25? You seem innocent enough, hell at least you’re not 30. But it seems that society sees you as this ledge over which everyone gets shoved after college when you’re expected to start having kids and create Facebook statuses about cooking, the best schools, and saving for a home loan. Ugh what is this?! I’m 25 and still a kid all the way through. I don’t want to grow up and be responsible, that’s for old people, you know, thirty-somethings. Life is about having fun and experiencing everything there is out there to be experienced, whether it’s fun, beautiful, stupid, or boring. If you give in to 25, you’re succumbing to the mind-numbing routine of wake, work, home; wedding, kids, suburbs; kill, me, now.
Wake up 25-year-olds. Newsflash, you probably don’t even really know what you want in life at this age. There’s a reason men go through their mid-life crises, buy sports cars when they start losing their hair, and divorce and remarry and divorce and play the single life at 50, while women fill their faces with poison, redecorate the house, and do the tennis instructor. These guys turned 25 and said, well guess I better settle down. I mean, I’m not really ready to and don’t really want to, but hell, I’m supposed to be responsible and make my parents proud, right? Ew. This isn’t the 19th century where everyone dies at 30 so girls and boys pair up at 18 and start popping out children to run the family farm. We’re living longer and healthier than ever. Women are freezing their eggs, people aren’t retiring until their seventies, and the elderly have the online dating site, Our Time! 25 is young, y’all!
Okay, 25, you do have some redeemable qualities. You’re not the absolute worst. At least you’re an age at which you can feel independent and live alone, but still piggyback off your parents’ phone plan. You can knowledgeably argue about politics and social issues with other adults and feel totally justified if they don’t see your point because you’re still young enough to think you’re always right. If you and your 25 year-old friends get drunk and pass out on the sidewalk while walking home from the bars, you probably won’t be mistaken for a pack of drunk homeless people. Probably. These are some serious merits. I’m not saying they make up for everything, but they’re helping your case, 25.
The funny thing about 25 is that’s it’s one of those ages we never think we’ll get to. Not that we think we’re going to die before we reach it, but it’s just too old and too far away, even at 21, to think about being. The next one for me is 29, then 33, 35, and everything after that until 81. I don’t know what it is about 81, but I’m pretty sure I’ll be that age at some point…maybe in like 56 years or so. But 25. 25, you’re just a little awkward. You think you’re older than you are, but you also want to be younger than you are, and you definitely don’t want to be where you are, so you just kinda sit there twiddling your thumbs while waiting for 26 to come along and cement reality. I guess I don’t totally hate you, 25. You’ve actually been pretty good to me so far. But look, can you do me a huge favor? I promise I’ll think you’re the best thing ever if you do me this solid. Could you just have a little chat with 30 and tell that bitch to beat it the fuck out of here? Thanks, 25, you’re the best. I’ll love you forever.
TX Creative P1 
