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…