Tomorrow I shall be 35. No, that's not a typo... 35. That's three and a half decades down and I'm still the height of a twelve year old. On a stool. With platform shoes. Tonight, however, I will be the age my height suggests and those shoes will be ruby. And big sis is in on it too!
We're going to watch the Wizard of Oz, which turns waaay older than myself and thus has earned a coveted screen at our gigantic, overpriced and admittedly impressive theater. Yup, Dorothy's back on the big screen for a one night, one showing engagement. And I will see her in all of her newly digital glory. Why? Because I can.
Because I'm old enough to drive and, despite snickering in the back, I can actually reach the peddles. Because I grew up watching this movie which, by line of logic, means I actually grew up. I'm paying with money earned from my grown-up job (or as grown-up as selling air can be).
My sister doesn't know where we're going yet, as I think the birthday girl is entitled to surprise other people instead. And I can only hope she'll be as excited as me to see a movie at ten o'clock at night and then get up in the wee hours of dawn for the activities that adulthood requires. I hope she'll join me in the reverse aging process, marveling at munchkins and flying monkeys and a yellow brick road I'm fairly sure scientists have yet to unearth in reality. I'm about to hit the 'old threshold' according to family, coworkers and my traitorous hair color. I don't care. Tonight I'm still 34 going on twelve.
Mind you, I'm so old now that the sense of thrift has set in and I bought the normally four dollar candy ahead of time at the dollar store. Sue me!
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