I’m old fashioned. I realize that. By the time I was 24 years old, I had (a) a wife (b) my own home (c) a career (d) and, of course, a dog.
To observe that there are an ever-growing group of 34-year-olds still living with mommy and daddy is just eye-rollingly pathetic to me. For real. It seems that making a life of your own has become freakish.
