So Monday, I had on my wedding dress and Nolan and I were walking down Third Street to the Howell Theatre for a little photo op. And this guy in shorts and a white t-shirt and sunglasses, walking a massive dog says “Good luck in the real world.”
I assume he was talking to me, the girl in the wedding dress, the girl who’s about to get married and throw her single, carefree life away. I’m twenty-five. I’ve worked as a waitress, a teacher, a bank teller, a nursing home activities assistant, and a journalist. I’ve been to Paris, Rome, Johannesburg, Cape Town, Montreal, New York, Nice, and Madrid. I’ve lived in London. I’ve parasailed in the Gulf of Mexico, I’ve swam in the Mediterranean, I’ve watched the waves crash against the rocks where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic. I’ve had vino in Italy, pintxos in Spain, and brie in France. I’ve stood in the cell where Nelson Mandela slept. I’ve danced with Zulu women. I’ve held babies orphaned by the African AIDS epidemic.
That, my friends, is the Real World.