Fruity Pebbles

I’m finally at that age when everyone seems to be getting married. When I say everyone, I mean EVERYONE but me. And frankly, I’m surprised at my attitude. See, I had a feeling that this was going to happen. I’ve always expected to be the last one of my friends who was alone and fat, but I sort of expected some sort of mental breakdown to accompany the arrival of this day. I mean, as surprising at it sounds, I’m genuinely happy for my friends and I don’t constantly check myself in the mirror for a humpback or a gimpy leg that will forever keep me fat and alone (apologies to all my faithful fat, lonely gimpy-legged humpbacked readers) My one concern is, why am I so unconcerned? By my age, my mother had 6 years of marriage under her belt, 2 children and an accidental child on the horizon (me). Meanwhile, I’m at Pathmark buying Fruity Pebbles because no one can tell me I can’t have them. ( I do carry them home in a cloth bag, which is VERY adult, thank you very much!). But while I’m munching on my fruity pebbles, I can’t help but wonder if there’s something else I should be aspiring to? Why am I not acting my age? How does one act 24? Instead of rolling my eyes at mothers who bring crying babies on airplanes, should I smile at them politely while my ovaries yearn for their good reproductive fortune? Listen, I’m not saying I don’t want domestic life. In some sort of dark distant future, I do want it! But for now, these fruity pebbles are delicious! Is that so wrong?