Ha! Supposing your calves don't cramp in the middle of the night, catapulting you out of bed in search of a cold floor, keening a little until the charley horse unkinks. You don't fish your teeth out of their dear little plastic, cleanser-filled container in the morning and rinse off the mint slime before inserting them in your mouth. You don't eat the inside of the baguette and leave the crust. You don't wake up for good at 3 a.m. and start thinking about the last awful thing you said to your first boyfriend, which leads to a volcanic mass of ugly memories, starring yourself as the villain in the piece.
If you're young enough to be skipping through life with a smile on your lips and a song in your heart (no vomiting!) then you don't need to read the book based on a blog called something like hownottoactold.blog.
I didn't even try to resist reading some of it. Now I know not to take pictures of my flowers. Or wear socks with my shorts. Or indulge the hedonist in me with big, comfy cotton underpants. No, see, you can do all those things if you are clueless, like I was until yesterday, but - if you do them - you're ACTING OLD. Seriously. More to come.
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