At the age of eighteen, cognition and the ability to think ahead is not always developed.

For me it certainly wasn’t.

On my eighteenth birthday, I knew exactly what I wanted to do in order to mark the day I officially became an adult.  Well, an adult who could not drink yet.

I was still living with my parents at the time, and of course, they would have been 100% opposed to my plans.  So I secretly calculated my strategy months in advance in the privacy of my bedroom.

I coaxed a friend into driving me around on my birthday, since I had a feeling I would need the moral support.

On the way, my body began to tremble.  My knees bounced and my eyes shifted to each side view mirror, back and forth, anxious that perhaps someone I knew would see me.

We arrived safely and undetected, but the anticipation became unbearable.  My palms glistened with sweat as I sank my face deep into them. Reluctant to open the car door, I looked over to my friend and asked, “Wanna come in with me?  Please?  Just for a sec?”

“Um, sure.  You okay, Sandy? C’mon, don’t worry. I’ll walk you in.”

A tall, young man greeted us at the door. Shirtless and alone, he nonchalantly invited us inside.

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