This morning someone called me ma’am. And while we all know that it’s not the first time, it didn’t sting any less, you guys.
|You can tell I've matured by|
how I hold my wine glass.
Which got me to thinking about when, exactly, I became an adult. When did I turn from ‘miss’ to ‘ma’am’ and how on earth do I make it stop? Was it when I finally moved out on my own and started working in the “real world”? Was it when there was a 3 in front of my age and everyone assumed I’d finally matured? Or was it when I realized that, while my soul feels perpetually 16, my body clearly looks like a ma’am.
Which got me to thinking about all of the things that happen to you as an adult that totally suck.
You cannot sleep in. When I was a teenager and through most of my twenties, I could sleep half of the day away before even considering waking up. So much so that I used to go to my 11am “morning” class in college in pajamas. To be fair, though, the class was IN my dorm and so technically I didn’t have to leave my house.
But now, if I sleep until 8 it’s like I’ve hit the lottery, and even then, I’ve likely been waking up every half hour thinking I’ve missed a meeting or an alarm or I just really want to wake up to French press my coffee and read the newspaper. And then I get sad because I realize I’ve become an adult. And then CB points out that adults don’t normally have sparkle phones and I feel much better.
You check in on your 401K. Just that sentence alone says it all. And makes us simultaneously responsible and horrifically uncool, which is sort of the underlying theme of adulthood, I've found.
You talk endlessly about what’s for dinner. Up until a few years ago, the contents of my grocery list included “ramen” or “peanut butter.” Though, to be fair, those sometimes are still on my list now (and don’t ask my friends about the time I confessed to putting ketchup on my egg noodles because you’ll find out that my friends are big fat liars and nobody should listen to them ever.)
But in the last few years I’ve become that person who watches cooking shows and reads cooking magazines to get Quick Weekday Meal ideas and stuff.
WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??
WHEN DID THIS HAPPEN??
I mean, I’m not the person who rips recipes out of magazines and adds it to her cookbook. Hell, I’m not even the person who OWNS a cookbook. Except I totally am that person, you guys, and it’s freaking me out!
Yesterday, I had a whole conversation with my coworker about the best way to cook asparagus. And then I had a whole conversation with CB about what our menu options were for the week based upon the groceries I’d purchased.
And then my child-heart cried.
You use anti-wrinkle cream un-ironically. And you also make sure to put it on your neck, which is a sign you take this sh*t seriously.
You start talking about things that hurt. This one is hard to admit because it’s the ultimate sign that you’re no longer twenty-something. But when you and your friends can sit around talking about joint pain and your bad backs, you know you’ve gone ‘round the bend.
Also, if you’re doing this while simultaneously looking at your 401k, just end it now.
You think of old people as young to make yourself feel better.
It’s important to understand that the conversation you’re about to read happened while we were making the bed.
Me: “Did you hear that?”
Me: “Dustin Hoffman is 75.”
CB: “Yeah, he’s been around for a while.”
Me: “He looks really good for his age.”
CB: “He does.”
Silence, fluffing pillows.
Me: “I mean, if I had to guess, I’d never guess he was in his 70s.”
CB, clearly not as invested in the conversation: “Yeah.”
Silence, straightening the bed runner.
Me: “Do you think that’s because we’re getting older?”
Me: “I mean, when I was younger, 75 sounded super-old. But now when I hear that someone’s 75 I’m like ‘oh, that’s not old at all.’”
CB, staring at me.
Me: “Like, do you think that it doesn’t seem old because I realize subconsciously that I’m closer to that person in age now than I was 15 years ago and so I’m trying to make myself feel younger by making them not seem old?”
CB: “I think you think about this kind of stuff more than the average person.”
Me: “But do you know what I mean?”
CB: “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
And then he left the room, likely to contemplate how wise and deep I am.
And the list goes on. What did I miss?
Happy Wednesday, everyone!