One down, two to go.

Being a good girl hasn’t worked out for me, but being bad might have worked out for my bestie.

Now it’s my turn to switch to the dark side.

Muah ha ha.

My three best friends and I wrote a list in junior high that we would complete if we weren’t married by the time we were thirty.

Spoiler alert.

I’m divorced, and that means I don’t get a free pass.

My list items are enough to make my cheeks burn.

Make out with a stranger in an airplane bathroom?

I’d rather jump out of the plane.

Pole dance at a nightclub?

If my fourteen-year-old self could feel her body at thirty, she never would have put it on the list.

I’m going to break an ankle.

Or my own heart.

Because kissing the gorgeous rockstar who’s seven years younger than me on an airplane turns out to be the best naughty thing I’ve ever done.

It’s official.

Being bad is kind of delicious.

And so is the New Me.