If I know myself, this will most likely mean that five years from now I will be going through an intricate life crisis regarding my imminent disgorgement from the 20something bracket, the decline of my once youthful looks and the slowing down of my biological clock, all whilst questioning my contributions to the world and my value to the human race (I know this because I went through a very similar ordeal when I turned fifteen).
However, in the mist of said crisis, I will be living in a big city, probably New York, where I will own a French bulldog named Cat Stevens. Every Sunday, Cat Stevens and I will go to Central Park with a cheese plate and a bottle of lemon-flavored sparkling water, and we will proceed to frolic in the grass and judge girls that lay out in the sun wearing their swimsuits.
I will be speaking fluent French, and I will often go to museums and have fake conversations on my cell phone (in French) so that people around me know how well I speak the language.
I will wear more hats, and they will look better on me then than they do now. I will also have a very expensive trench coat to go with my hats, and together, they will showcase what a refined woman I turned out to be.
I will be able to afford cabs, and I will spend months without going down the stairs of a subway station. Although, I will take the subway every now and then in order to remind myself of the times when I was just a girl and had to take the D train to the Bronx at 3 in the morning; but once I do it, I will regret it immediately.
I will be eating healthier and exercising, and I will be making more eye contact with strangers. People will often start conversations with me in bookstores and coffee shops, and leave wondering if I could had been the love of their lives, but they will never see me again because I will always refuse to give away my phone number.
I will have no idea what is going on in the advertising industry, due to the fact that I will quit my job at 27 and open my own book store (I will do this hoping that someday my life could mimic that of Hugh Grant’s character in “Notting Hill,” except Julia Roberts would have a beard and not be a bitch).
I will be very happy even though it does not sound like it.