I always imagined I'd be one of those old biddies who sits on her porch and yells at the neighborhood kids to stay off her lawn.
I never thought I'd turn into one before I was 25.
This weekend, as usual, I went to my favorite bar. The Library is my lawn. I'm a regular. I know all the bartenders. They know my order. I'm surprised they haven't named a drink (vodka water no lime) after me. Or at least a bar stool.
I've been frequenting the Library since I was 18.
I don't ever remember acting like the now 18 (and 19 and 20 and 21) year olds.
They're rude and inconsiderate and trashy. And they're on my lawn.
I don't like the lines. I don't like the crowds.
I also don't like that there's nothing I can do about it. School is back in session and I choose to set up my lawn chair* at the most crowded bar in a college town.
But, I am not above yelling at the kids anyway.
*Figure of speech. We don't sit in lawn chairs. This isn't Starkville.