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In this thesis, some old decision strategies are investigated and a new one that furthers our SU-WordTemplate Something Borrowed Something Blue. Two of Emily Giffin's most beloved novels tell one story of love and betrayal, friendship and forgiveness Something BorrowedA hard-working attorney at a large. Darcy is now leaning over the bar, flirting with the twenty-something, aspiring actor/bartender something borrowed. Something Blue by Emily Giffin.
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The next time I really thought about being thirty was our senior year in high school, when Darcy and I started watching the show Thirtysomething together. It wasn't one of our favorites-we preferred cheerful sit-coms like Who's the Boss?
My big problem with Thirtysomething was the whiny characters and their depressing issues that they seemed to bring upon themselves. I remember thinking that they should grow up, suck it up. Stop pondering the mean-ing of life and start making grocery lists.
That was back when I thought my teenage years were dragging and my twenties would surely last for-ever. Then I reached my twenties. And the early twenties did seem to last forever. When I heard acquaintances a few years older lament the end of their youth, I felt smug, not yet in the danger zone myself.
I had plenty of time.
Until about age twenty-seven when the days of being carded were long gone and I began to marvel at the sudden acceleration of years reminding myself of my mother's annual monologue as she pulled out our Christmas decorations and the accompanying lines and stray gray hairs.
At twenty-nine the real dread set in, and I realized that in a lot of ways I might as well be thirty. But not quite. Because I could still say that I was in my twenties.
I still had something in common with college seniors. I realize thirty is just a number, that you're only as old as you feel and all of that. I also realize that in the grand scheme of things, thirty is still young. But it's not that young. It is past the most ripe, prime child-bearing years, for example. It is too old to, say, start training for an Olympic medal. Even in the best die-of-old-age scenario, you are still about one-third of the way to the finish line. So I can't help feeling uneasy as I perch on an overstuffed maroon couch in a dark lounge on the Upper West Side at my surprise birthday party, organized by Darcy, who is still my best friend.
After tonight my twenties will be over, a chapter closed forever. The feeling I have reminds me of New Year's Eve, when the countdown is coming and I'm not quite sure whether to grab my camera or just live in the moment.
Usually I grab the camera and later regret it when the picture doesn't turn out. Then I feel enormously let down and think to myself that the night would have been more fun if it didn't mean quite so much, if I weren't forced to analyze where I've been and where I'm going. Like New Year's Eve, tonight is an ending and a beginning. I don't like endings and beginnings. I would always prefer to churn about in the middle.
The worst thing about this particular end of my youth and beginning of middle age is that for the first time in my life, I realize that I don't know where I'm going. My wants are simple: a job that I like and a guy whom I love. And on the eve of my thirtieth, I must face that I am 0 for 2. First, I am an attorney at a large New York firm. By definition this means that I am miserable.
Being a lawyer just isn't what it's cracked up to be-it's nothing like L. Law, the show that caused applications to law schools to skyrocket in the early nineties.
I work excruciating hours for a mean-spirited, anal-retentive partner, doing mostly tedious tasks, and that sort of hatred for what you do for a living begins to chip away at you. So I have memorized the mantra of the law firm associate: I hate my job and will quit soon. Just as soon as I pay off my loans. Just as soon as I make next year's bonus.
Just as soon as I think of something else to do that will pay the rent. Or find someone who will pay it for me. Which brings me to my second point: I am alone in a city of millions. I have plenty of friends, as proven by the solid turnout tonight. Friends to Rollerblade with. Friends to summer with in the Hamptons. Friends to meet on a Thursday night after work for a drink or two or three. And I have Darcy, my best friend from home, who is all of the above.
But everybody knows that friends are not enough, although I often claim they are just to save face around my married and engaged girlfriends.
I did not plan on being alone in my thirties, even my early thirties. I wanted a husband by now; I wanted to be a bride in my twenties. But I have learned that you can't just create your own timetable and will it to come true. So here I am on the brink of a new decade, realizing that being alone makes my thirties daunting, and being thirty makes me feel all the more alone.
The situation seems all the more dismal because my oldest and best friend has a glamorous PR job and is freshly engaged.
Darcy is still the lucky one. Dex and Darcy are an exquisite couple, lean and tall with match-ing dark hair and green eyes. They are among New York's beautiful people. The well-groomed couple registering for fine china and crystal on the sixth floor at Bloomingdale's. You hate their smugness but can't resist staring at them when you're on the same floor searching for a not-too- expensive gift for the umpteenth wedding you've been invited to without a date. You strain to glimpse her ring, and are instantly sorry you did.
She catches you staring and gives you a disdainful once-over. You wish you hadn't worn your tennis shoes to Bloomingdale's.
She is probably think-ing that the footwear may be part of your problem. You download your Waterford vase and get the hell out of there. Tell them to leave a landing strip or else you can wind up hairless, like a ten-year-old! I'll be right back," Darcy suddenly says. I got my dri-ver's license before she did, could drink legally before she could.
Being older, if only by a few months, used to be a good thing. But now our fortunes have reversed. Darcy has an extra summer in her twenties-a perk of being born in the fall. Not that it matters as much for her: when you're engaged or married, turning thirty just isn't the same thing.
As if Darcy would ever be single. She said once in high school, I don't break up, I trade up. Embeds 0 No embeds. No notes for slide.
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Book details Author: Emily Giffin Pages: Martin s Press Language: English ISBN If you want to download this book, click link in the last page 5. You just clipped your first slide! Clipping is a handy way to collect important slides you want to go back to later.
Now customize the name of a clipboard to store your clips. Visibility Others can see my Clipboard. Trying to recover, she flees to her childhood friend Ethan living in London and resorts to her tried-and-true methods for getting what she wants. But as she attempts to recreate her glamorous life on a new continent, Darcy finds that her old ways no longer apply. Baby Proof [ edit ] Claudia Parr and her perfect husband Ben agreed from the beginning of their marriage that children are not for them.
When Ben changes his mind, Claudia is forced to reevaluate her reasons for not wanting children. At the same time, she wonders, is there ever a deal-breaker for true love?
There is no question how deep their devotion is, and how naturally they bring out the best in each other. But one fateful afternoon, Ellen runs into her former beau Leo for the first time in eight years. Although Leo brought out the worst in her and left her heartbroken with no explanation, he is also the love she could never quite forget.
When his reappearance ignites long-dormant emotions, Ellen begins to question whether the life she is living is the one she is meant to live.