We're getting old. Unlike you, who are still a dewy young flower poking your blossom out into the sun (you're always poking that blossom, aren't you?), we are showing signs of age. You were born in the great gaybie boom of 1982. We, who were born in 1981, however, are already past our prime. Just look at us: Britney Spears, Rachel Bilson, Jennifer Hudson, Anna Kournikova, MTV.... We're basically all washed up. Our moments in the sun have turned into sungrown melanomas - because as loath as we are to admit it, this year we turn 26.
As we've sagged through the last year, we've noticed some changes we want to warn you about. Our tolerance for hangovers has steadily declined, as has our tolerance for general idiocy, and lint. We obsess less over getting laid, and more over getting a dog. (Okay, we still obsess over getting laid, but we think getting a dog will help). Masturbation has become like "Law & Order," still fascinating but in the end repetitive and predictable. We don't care if people notice when we lean to fart. Our hairline has begun to ebb. And when we date men, we strangely find ourselves wondering what our parents will think of them, and how they will look no more than two inches away from us, eyes one the same level, in the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations section.
Getting old is fucked up.
But Fishwatch, we don't want you to be afraid of growing up, as we once were. One day soon you will turn 25, and then, a year later, you too will be forced over the precipice into the craggy ravine of adulthood. 26, after all, is the age at which you are no longer a child. By then you will probably realize that anyone under 24 really isn't dateable, no matter how much lightly he bounces when you throw him onto the rug. Because a lot happens in the years between when we were your age, and now. We've had over 100,000 visitors at the Fagat Guide. We've dated at least 5 really handsome and smart men, and hooked up with at least 25 who weren't necessarily as handsome or smart. All of that, combined with the wear-and-tear of age, has made us wiser, kinder and inexplicably chunkier in the lower back region.
So Fishwatch, we will pass on into adulthood ahead of you, carving a path of broken hearts and mended hernias as we go. Don't cry for us - we are no longer afraid.
Except about the hairline bit. That scares the poop out of us.