If I’m a Kid, You’re a Fetus or Age is just a number. So is your cholesterol level. Numbers Kill.

Generational divides can seem gigantic. Mom and Dad, bless their hearts, have trouble with the “interwebs” while kids these days have abnormally large thumbs due to video game abuse. Old folks remember when cassettes were the newest thing while tiny tots have never heard of a walkman. Baby boomers think back on the first time they saw Snow White in theaters while young schoolchildren today were never exposed to the slaughter of Bambi’s parents. As a millennial, I bridge that gap. I remember when computer screens were in black and green and when digital cameras could hold TEN pictures! (Sorry Aurelia, we didn’t get any shots of your elementary school graduation. The camera was full of puppy pictures.) I can also, regrettably, identify Taylor Swift, Miley Cyrus, and Selena Gomez by sight and vocal range. I can kick it with grandpa’s and Bieber tweens alike, no problem.

Why is it then, spending time with people 2-6 years younger than me seems like a trek to Outer Mongolia? College kids, man. A glorious age so very different from any other. Still young enough to not have any real responsibilities or expectations except for not dropping out. Precious souls still unpunched by the brutal fist of reality. Old enough to buy cigarettes, vote, and other adult things. (Keeping it PG).

Bambi and Thumper enjoying some plants. Many college kids enjoy plants as well.

The reason it can be excruciatingly awkward and uncomfortable interacting with college kids is the underlying judgment on both sides. College kids think, “Why is she still hanging out with college kids? Why doesn’t she have a real job?” Millenials think, “Why am I still hanging out with college kids? All they do is get wasted and complain about classes. And why has no one heard of Bambi?” I look at their fresh, yet bleary eyed, faces and think “Enjoy scampering with your woodland friends. The world is a forest, and life is a hunter out for blood.” 

A warning to college students from Disney about life after college: "Bambi, your mother can't be with you anymore."

It’s my (wedding) party and I’ll cry if the napkins aren’t folded to reveal my hidden nature

This engagement ring is appropriate only for women 13 and younger,
which is to say, this is an inappropriate engagement ring.

When my grandmother got married, she was sixteen. When I was sixteen, I went to prom. There are similarities: a fancy dress, lots of pictures, dancing to the YMCA. The critical difference: at the end of a wedding MATRIMONY happens. At the end of prom, matrimony does NOT happen.

Even though society has pushed back the marriage deadline, I am now at the age where marriage is acceptable, encouraged, even expected. Everywhere I turn, friends of mine are sending me save the date magnets with their portraits on them beaming with pre-marital bliss. Engagement parties, bridal showers, bachelorette parties litter my agenda with more frequency than my own dates. Which tells me two things:  that I need to buy more non-holiday wrapping paper and that my own wedding is a long ways away.

In the meantime, I am taking notes. Bridal magazines, Tiffany’s ring generator, and of course actually going to weddings have got me thinking about my big day (as if I haven’t been scheming this since I was 9).  One thing is for sure, I do not want the Eiffel Tower on my engagement ring. The New York Times claims that millenials want their wedding experience to be “distinctive, memorable, and personal.” Read “these kids think they’re so special and creative and that no one else has ever thought of making an Eiffel Tower wedding ring. How gauche.” Believe me, someone else has thought of it before, but they were drunk at the time.

Potential fiancés, when picking out a ring to pop the question with, ask yourself, if this ring were a thousand times bigger, would it resemble a national monument? If the answer is yes, give it back to the sales clerk and try again later.

Yes, it’s true that millenials want meaningful weddings, but I can’t imagine that brides were completely indifferent to particulars pre 1979. Everyone wants a tasteful, fun wedding, but no generation is immune to nuptial faux pas. Or maybe it is just us…