So here I am, 2 hours away from being (or pretending to be) that grown-up 21 year old adult that everyone expects of me, and I'm standing in the bathroom holding a brand new leather jacket in one hand and a bottle of flaming red hair dye in the other.
The smirk on my face could turn this town inside out.
Fuck being responsible.
Fuck being an adult.
I am youthful, humorous, confident, and practically bursting with sexuality. Who made up all these rules about age and maturity? Since when did it become a crime to wrecklessly explore the world and take life for what is? A means to an end. No one's going to hold your hand from cradle to tomb. These are the moments you have to enjoy and the mysteries you have to solve on your own.
I love that about life.
I love that you can color your hair and paint on some ruby red lipstick and morph into a completely different person. The man at the club knows me only as the lusty sex kitten who flirts her way to payday. The girl at the coffee shop knows me only as the quiet girl in the glasses and cardigan who always has her nose in a book. My boss knows me as a hard worker. My boyfriend knows me as a good lover. Most of my friends know me as a good listener.
I get to play all these parts.
Life is really a one man show.
But at the end of the day, no matter what my outward appearance may be, I'm still the exact same Ashley Joelle Jasper I've been since day one.
And no one can take that away from me.
Happy Birthday.
