Hi, my name is Rebecca and I drive my boyfriend's car, shop with coupons, and read the Sunday paper. Minus the part about the boyfriend, I'm practically a 30-year-old single's ad. Well, that or a gay man. Now that the initial "let freedom ring!" euphoria of moving out of my parents' house has subsided, I'm finding myself experiencing the middle-age doldrums and it's looking bleak. I confess I expected this to happen at some point, but not before my 20th birthday. Maybe it's because my boyfriend's still in California, or maybe it's because when I moved out, my parents moved to North Carolina, but suddenly I'm alone in PA, living the swinging single life.
I should expand upon the above term of living the swinging single life. Hi, my name is Rebecca and this week I changed my own oil, lost my oil cap, bought a new oil cap, prevented an engine explosion and cooked chicken parm. As great as this newfound independence and self-sufficiency is on my budget, dinner for one is only so much fun, and now that I've become waxing poetic, this is where I stop.