Most people know that Peter Pan never grew up, because he decided not to. But do you know why none of the lost boys ever grew up either? Because when they did, Peter would kill them off.

Now I’m not saying I’d have such an extreme reaction with my own friends if this happened, but still, if they ever grew up, I’d probably get new, younger ones. This weekend, like a lot of weekends, we brunched, went to the toy store, bought toys and comic books, went to my place and played with them. Pretty much the same Saturday as when I was nine years old, but without parents.

I used to be afraid that not marrying, not having kids would mean I’d be a lonely old broad someday. However, I eventually realized that there now are so many of us who don’t mate for life, that when I’m a childless old maid, I’ll be in good company. So many of our generation are making this choice.

In much the same way, while I’m happy about being young at heart, I’ve worried that not growing up would mean I’d someday be the only dried-up forty-year-old shopping at Valet de Coeur games and hobbies. This too, however, is wrong. I hope I’m right in saying that many of us choose to remain “retarded adolescents”; that in old age, there’ll still be lots of crusty old geeks to hang with.