22

There have been a few times in my life when I have spent extended periods of time with 22 year olds. The first came when I was 22. I was living in DC and unconcerned with career advancement. I spent most evenings drinking until things were blurry surrounded by a happy band of fellow 22 year olds. I worked 12 hour days hungover and once arrived to work wearing an ill-fitting sweatsuit which caused the receptionist to confuse me with the cleaning lady.

The opportunity to hang out with 22 year olds came again when I was 25. I was working on a campaign and spent easily 20 hours a day with 2, 22 year olds. I again worked incredibly long hours on precious little sleep and had my fair share of hangovers. It was during this time that I remembered just how good I am at flip cup.

This weekend I, once again, had the opportunity to share the company of 22 year olds. This time it was at dinner in NYC. Said 22 year olds were of the blonde, seniors at the University of Southern California variety. This time though I was not so easily able to join the pack. Instead I was seated firmly on the grown-up side of the table with 3, 30 somethings (one of whom is dating one of the 22 year olds). It was at this end of the table that I engaged (or rather sat silently through) a conversation about credit default swaps and how positively annoying it is when people call them CDSs. At the other end of the table (and a world away) were the 22 year olds. Not an entree to be had between them (though one did risk shame and ostracization and ordered a salad). Though actual dinner was not to be had at this outing there were shots to be ordered...to the table. Fearing crossing to the dark side of 30 and momentarily forgetting how much i hate shots, i was goaded into sucking down straight vodka.

By comparison, 30 can't be that bad.