My 21st and 22nd birthdays were polar opposites. My 21st was a Saturday night, with everyone I’ve ever met (at UMD anyway) at the bar, with the Red Sox having just destroyed the Yankees and swept the World Series. My 22nd was a Monday night, where 6 good friends showed up anyway and helped me pretend the night had some significance.
So in short, turning 22 sucks because it’s a letdown after turning 21. But 23 is the perfect middle between being too old for your college friends and too young for your work friends. And it’s Election Day this year, and with any luck I’ll be able to read the news without fighting the urge to vomit for the first time since 2000.
And 23 is Michael Jordan’s number.
(This last piece of logic doesn’t apply to turning 45)