I refuse to send out Christmas cards. I feel like it's the last step in becoming a full-blown adult, and I'm just not ready.
The transition started around my mid-20s, when I was living with two guy friends. One thing I learned about living with guys is that you can never have enough batteries, light bulbs or toilet paper, and the only thing you'll ever fight about is who bought them last.
In an effort to not live a frat-boy lifestyle, I began stocking a pantry with such necessities, along with other toiletries I was used to running out of, and felt this was my first step to adulthood. After all, I can't recall a time growing up or ever visiting my mother's house where she said, "Sorry guys. Out of toilet paper. You'll have to use paper towels."
Around my late 20s, I started wearing practical shoes and flossing. I would see groups of teenagers on the street and automatically assume they were up to no good. Boys in the bar were starting to look underage because there was no way, by golly, that I was looking overage. I also started using phrases like "by golly."
Last year, I started going to bed at a decent hour. Naps were no longer necessary because I had been up all night but because I was feeling tuckered out. And I realized my nephews didn't really see me as cool. I was just old. The fact that I cared whether I was cool and forced the issue only made me appear older.
When my last birthday rolled around, I kept hearing the joke, "Let me guess ... 21?" That joke is insulting. You may as well say, "Let me guess ... you think you still look 21?" Just like when you're carded at Jewel and the clerk says, "Sorry, we have to." Really? You just have to inform me that the only reason you're IDing me is because there's a slight chance you could lose your job because a 19-year-old alcoholic who's aging faster than Lindsay Lohan tried to pull a fast one on you? Really?
I don't even know what picture I'd put on a Christmas card. Me next to the tree I haven't bothered to put up? The pet I don't have because I'm too selfish to take care of another living thing popping out of a stocking? Maybe I could just use a picture of a stranger's kids on Santa's lap and sign it "Happy Holidays from Katie and these guys."
I'm going to try to stop using the silent treatment as an effective means of communication in a fight. Except in the case of an emergency, my New Year's resolution is to no longer pass out on friends' couches. And I'm slowly but surely coming around to the idea that Santa doesn't exist. But I'm not old enough for Christmas cards. Not yet.
So, by golly, Merry Christmas everyone.
KATIE KILLACKY IS A REDEYE SPECIAL CONTRIBUTOR.