Except now they tell me, “1998.” And I’m like, “And you’re potty trained? That’s wonderful.”
Yesterday I got into an argument with my youngest cousin when she invited me to her 13th birthday party. You are not going to be 13, I said, after various dying raptor noises.
“I was born in 2000!” she said.
“Yeah. I know. You still like Blue’s Clues, right? I wonder if I can find it on DVD now.”
She wasn’t impressed with my gift idea. She wants makeup. I refuse to accept this reality.