I’m going to tell you a secret. I’m over the age of 40. Don’t tell anyone, though. I’d like to think that I hide it well with my hipster shaggy haircut (too lazy/busy to get it cut) and fondness of punk and guitar based rock.
I guess I can officially claim myself as an adult now, right? You know, that age that you never thought would arrive when we were all younger. Adulthood. Wow. Just writing that one out makes me a bit uncomfortable. I guess that means that everything is going to be like it was for my parents, right?
Nope. It’s all a big lie. Adulthood doesn’t mean financial stability, cleanliness, wise thinking, and intelligent conversations. At least that’s what I thought it was supposed to be.
Why is it that I find myself still a bit short when the end of the month comes around? Aren’t all adults financially secure, with investment accounts, “portfolios” of some kind of papers that mean money? As a kid, I figured that when adulthood arrived, I’d have a job that paid for all the stuff I wanted, as well as the freedom to buy all of the sugar cereals that my mom never let me eat. Truth is, I still don’t eat the sugar cereals (they make my butt bigger), my job pays for the stuff I have but not the stuff I want, and my investment account looks more like a shoebox of receipts.
Next, don’t adults all live in super clean homes, super well organized, and drive cars that always have the new car smell? Why do I find myself with always one more load of laundry to take care of, dishes to clean, rooms to pick up, and cars that need a vacuum and provide a great opportunity for some kid to “wash me” his way to graffiti greatness? I always remember adults having organized lives with clean houses and cars. No fair.
On to lie number three. Kids always said dumb stuff. The bullies at school were supposed to go away some day. Adults were supposed to think clearly, lead wisely, and show professional and common courtesy that we all learned in school, right? Why is it that we cut people off for parking spots, not hold doors open for others (or say thank you when I do), or even smile and say hello to each other? The bullies are still around, and are touting their middle management jobs in our faces. The squeaky wheels are getting the grease, just like the whiners that cried in grade school.
Here’s the deal. I don’t wanna grow up. I want to stay immature. I want to make fart sounds and laugh. Get excited for birthdays. And Christmas. I want toys, not clothes. I want to dream of being a superhero. Or at least read a comic. I wanna ride my bike. I want to scream “wee” when I’m having so much fun, there’s no other way to express myself.
Hell, I want someone to clean up after me. I want the security to sleep like the dead because I know that someone’s taking care of everything. I want to believe that I can be anything, including a pro sports star.
Who’s with me?
I’ll shut up now.