In exactly two weeks from today, I will venture into the world of the late twenties. Maybe twenty-six technically falls under the category of mid-twenties, but either way, all I know is that I’ll be a hell of a lot closer to thirty than twenty. Twenty-six was always my ‘adult’ age. You know, when you were little, the age you always had in mind when you thought of a grown up? I was always twenty-six, my name was always Tiffany and I was always married to a guy named Johnny – or Dylan.

My young mind pictured a woman of twenty-six to have it all. Married, with a career and two kids, living in a dream house like Malibu Barbie. Nothing seemed impossible. Fast forward a few decades – I’m twenty-six, unmarried with two cats, living in a condo like Indiana Barbie. My name is still Leslie and I don’t know anyone named Johnny or Dylan. I may not ‘have it all’ yet but I do love my life and I still believe nothing is impossible. I decided early on in life I would be a person who would celebrate – never dread my birthdays. So here’s to another two weeks of being a kid…

Because age ain’t nothin’ but a number and Malibu is always an option.

Malibu barbie sits on the beach