(Hat Tip to Max who did a similar post about Death by Viagra J and other grown 'n sexy anomalies to look forward to). And now without further ado, things they don't tell ya when you're twenty-five:
- You might not love what you do: That job that you spent all those years training for, paying off loans for and educating yourself to do? You'll probably hate it before you hit forty or forty-five. Have a fallback plan people. If I had ten dollars for every glaze-eyed, beatdown looking refugee fleeing the corporate plantation that I've met, OneChele would be retired and living in Bali by now.
- You can no longer eat what you want: I refuse to get into a discussion about digestion and fiber. Suffice it to say, it becomes more important to you once you pass thirty. The days of having leftover Chinese for breakfast, a Snickers for lunch and a Jalapeno Poppers with a bucket of Mango Daquiris are soon coming to an end. Repeat after me (you'll need to know these intimately): Pepcid, Zantac, Prilosec.
- You can no longer eat what you want (part II): The freshman 10? That's a fond memory. Once you pass 30 and 35, you can gain weight just by looking at piece of cake. With the exception of a blessed few (BougieYoungerBro!!), most people's metabolism starts pumping the brakes in the early thirties. You will have to do twice as much time on the freakin' Stairmaster then before to achieve the same effects.
- Your priorities shift: Ladies, those 4 and 5 inch stilettos you love so much? That whole Sex in the City, I'm so sexxxy vibe you are rocking? Not as important as kids in bed, quiet moments at home, and those cute sweats with slip on Nikes. The girl who never left the house without a perfect face of makeup and perfectly-coiffed hair learns to make a ponytail and lip gloss look good.
- You wake up differently: Welcome to middle-age. (Yes, with the life expectancy of African Americans, you officially hit "middle age" at 32!!) You will now wake up and hurt for no reason. One day it's your back, next it's your thighs, there's no rhyme or reason. Here's a word from your youth that will soundly sound sexy: Naptime. No seriously, a nap, not a euphemistic term for anything else. "Baby, take a nap with me," goes to a whole different level.
- You think of sex differently: Think quality not quantity. You will happily trade a four-hour marathon sweatfest for a 30-minute precision strike that hits all the bells and whistles. As Katt Williams says, "Sometimes you just want the Hot Pocket, no time for the four course turkey dinner."
- You discover your parents were right: About a lot of stuff. Unless you got dealt the crappy parent cards, you will find that as you get older more of the gobbledy-gook they shouted at you starts to make sense… dammit.
- Your interests change: It's not so important to be in the club or know the latest club-banger. You don't know all the latest rappers and the late night "quiet storm" music starts sounding real good to you. A documentary you wouldn't have been caught dead watching ten years earlier is all of a sudden fascinating.
- Your time gets precious: Free time is rarely free and when it is, you find yourself thinking about all of the things you could or should be doing instead.
- Your mortality seems real: You know you are no longer as young as you used to be when people you know that aren't that much older start dropping dead for no apparent reason. I remember hearing about a friend of mine's husband who went outside to mow the lawn and politely fell out never to rise again. He was 35. 35!!! Yeah, you hear stories like that and your bucket list becomes a little more urgent.
My reality check came while listening to the radio; they announced a song that came out in the mid-nineties as "Back in the Day!" I blinked and thought, wasn't that a minute ago? Then I grabbed my fiber-infused energy smoothie and went inside the gym.
Any to add?