27 on 27

As a kid, I remember that I couldn't wait to turn twenty-seven. For the same simplistic reason why most people chose the day they were born on as their favorite number, I did too. It was during that period when kids were making a conscious effort in establishing what their favorites were, so that in the event someone asked, we'd be ready with a quick answer and a modest explanation for: numbers, colors (red, because it starts with an 'r' and shares the same amount of characters as my name), ice cream (rainbow sherbet) and ninja turtle (rafael.. 'r' again AND for his red bandana!). Note: Narcissism was forgivable at that age.

Evidently, it never once appeared as one of my lottery numbers or roulette picks. But if you're as hopeless as I am, you stick with them and hope it comes around the next time.

Except this time, someone else did the choosing for me and gave me an age that I'm not quite ready for. I feel like I should have made a bigger dent in life by now. I guess the reality is that we're going to continue to complain every single year until one day, we realize that we'd give up an arm and leg to be [insert age here] again.

So I'll give it a shot. A butterfly landed on my finger, and quite respectfully, I will try to squeeze every moment out of this.