Taylor Swift lied to me. Twenty-two is actually the worst. Twenty-two is basically 21, except you’re a lot closer to graduation. Also, anyone who wants to graduate is clearly brainwashed and doesn’t understand how great we have it while we’re in college. Twenty-two means waking up at 8 a.m. on Saturday morning, feeling like you’ve been run over by a train, and starting a Netflix binge on the couch while eating day-old Jimmy John’s. The worst part is, this isn’t even socially acceptable anymore because you’re supposed to be looking for a job. A real job. A big girl job. Like…one with a paycheck.
I feel like I’m surrounded by girls who are desperate to be 21. It’s an understandable wish. The idea of officially being immune to an underage drinking ticket is a powerful draw, but there are so many girls who are desperate to be 21 just so they can get into the bars. I don’t really understand why that’s such a big deal.
I go to the bars. I have the specials memorized. I have a ton of fun when I’m there. But it is infinitely more expensive to go out than it is to go to a party or to a fraternity house. Every underage girl just rolled her eyes at me, assuming she’ll find a guy to buy her drinks. Let me tell you something, sweetheart–a guy will buy you drinks every once and awhile. I know how much you drink, and he will not buy you THAT many drinks unless he knows it’s a sure thing. Plus, can you honestly tell me you’ll go home with any guy who buys you drinks all night?
Well, probably yes. But that’s only going to happen once a month. Maybe. If you’re really lucky.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t want to go out to the bars. Don’t get me wrong, it can be a total blast. But do you realize how small the window of time is where going to a fraternity house is still socially acceptable? Think about it. The average age of the guys who live in frat houses is under 21. There are exceptions, of course, but why would you want to go to a bar and pay money to hang out with people who are older and will likely bail as soon as they learn you’re actually 19? And when you’re 22 and a 19-year-old male starts hitting on you, you just feel dirty.
I might as well mention that fake IDs are just stupid. I never had a fake ID and that didn’t stop my questionable choices on the weekends. You know at least three older sisters who will happily buy you alcohol. Walking into a bar 10 minutes before they start carding is just as effective as wielding a fake, too. The fact that you would pay money to do something that could cost you thousands of dollars if you were caught is beyond me.
There’s this huge hurry to grow up and be older until you hit 22. Then the whole world starts crashing in around you, because now it’s real. Real life, real graduation, real job search–really over it. Then you look back and wonder what your rush was. Why was this something you looked forward to? Why did you try to cheat age when you could have enjoyed being 20 just as much?
So cut it out. Realize what you’ve got, because if you don’t realize it now, it will hit you when pick up your cap and gown. Then you’ll have to spend the next 30 minutes inside a pint of Ben & Jerry’s just to be able to breathe again.
Hindsight is 20/20. Whatever, it’s not like I’m bitter.