Chunky heels are mine. Not yours.

I was a teenager in the late 90's and I loved sandals with chunky heels, baby t's and choker necklaces. I even wore heart barrettes in my hair (I still have them). And I can't forget to mention the flannel shirt that was tied around my waist most days.

And the music. I loved Jewel, No Doubt, Garbage, and the Wallflowers. I even died my hair that dark red color.

I thought I was so cool. The picture proves it.

(insert my heavy sigh weighted by so many memories here)

Times have changed. And I have started saying things like "back in the day" and getting territorial. I feel a protective of the 90s. I want to tell those teens and college students, "Those chunky heels are mine. Not yours. You are going to ruin them."

I swore this would never happen. Never. Ever. Never. Dammit it.

Fashion repeats itself. I know this. But the chunky heel? It makes me feel old that "my styles" have returned. It also makes me wistful for the nights when I danced in the bed of a truck listening to "One Headlight" with a party going on around me. Since I'm a midwesterner, the party was obviously in a back field with a fire going. Picturesque.

Pretty soon I will be seeing Y necklaces and chokers filling the shelves. And the stores will be playing Smashing Pumpkins and Nirvana in the background because it's cool again (it's always been to cool to me). The flannel shirts have already returned.

I really hope that Jinko jeans are retired. Forever. I never liked that one.

Today, I'm in my "sensible mom work shoes" and armed with my $250 purse that I thought I deserved (my 18-year-old self would roll her eyes at this). I drive a mini-van. I watch network television. I fall asleep early and I think my husband is adorable as he wanders our home with his morning cup of coffee.

And it's perfect. 36-year-old perfect.

And I bought myself some chunky heels. Because they are mine.