Party Like You're 22

When I got home from the airport tonight, there was a black gift bag on the kitchen table that said, "Party like a rock star," and had shiny ribbons and a greeting card with my name on it sticking out of the top. I was excited, and feeling strangely welcomed back to my mother's home with this gift that had to be from my sister. I hoped that she was still awake, as I would have felt bad opening it without her being there. But I would have opened it anyway.
She was laying on the couch with a blanket over her and my dog sleeping across her lap. She didn't say "Hi," just made a shh noise and pointed to the little animal. I said "Hey," not caring about the dog, and immediately asked her if I could open the gift.
She said, "Sure, but don't get too excited."
How could I not get excited? The woman knows how to wrap a present. It was everything you could hope for-- shiny, stylish, and most importantly, heavy. I lugged the bag into the living room, not really caring what was inside or how much it cost, and tore into the card first. While I wanted to throw the tissue paper into the air like Animal from the Muppets and see what was inside, I figured it would be rude to disregard the card. You can't disregard the card. It's a preface to the gift; it tells you what's to come and how the giver really feels about you. (Even if they don't tell you, their handwriting does. Another blog, another topic.)
Inside was written a command to enjoy being 22 and an affirmation of my sister's love for me... and then "Here's some goodies to enjoy!"
How could anyone not enjoy goodies? So I knew the gift would be things with expiration dates on them. And the card was accompanied by a Wal-Mart gift card, meaning don't expect too much more from the bag. This is your real gift.
And in the bag was a few of my favorite items to eat that my sister buys from Wal-Mart. It's really thoughtful, if you think about it. I mean, I must really be dying for Sun Chips and Cranberry Juice if I would go so far as to eat them when they're not mine.
That's one thing about living back with the family when you're an adult-- there's no sharing anymore. Around here, sharing only goes as far as the television, the germs, the heat, and the roof. We keep to ourselves maybe because we're adults, and we buy our own groceries and we go to our jobs or schools or social events on our own and we live our lives as though we were independent.
And that's the beauty of the American spirit, isn't it? Every man for himself?
Now excuse me, it's now after midnight on my 22nd birthday and I'm going to take my Sun Chips and Cranberry Juice and party like a rock star.