You know you’re thirtysomething when…
Your insurance agent calls to wish you a happy birthday.
You receive cards from your grad school and your bank.
There’s no pre-birthday hangover requiring the day off from work (and hair of the dog).
There's no post-birthday hangover, either.
You have the worst hangover in the history of hangovers.
You’re secure enough to admit to an old crush that even after umpteen years, he still gives you a little bit of the butterflies.
Your celebration consists of toddler swim class followed by dinner at Chipotle. There were even margaritas. Fancy!
You ask for jewelry, but happily settle for a gas grill.