Can You Pay My Billlllllssssss
You remember being a kid? We wanted to play outside, get wet, slip and
slide in detergent on plastic, eat snacks, watch cartoons, and wear our play clothes all the time. We thought coming in the house was a punishment, and when we did come into the house, we wanted to stay up all night.
We thought all of our problems would be solved by becoming “an adult” and being grown, which we, of course, thought were synonymous. Being grown meant not having to go to bed, or wash dishes, or clean up our rooms, or do chores, or go to school. Being an adult was the life. Until we got here.
G R O W N.
One day, we woke up, and the responsibilities were on us. We weren’t just adults; we were grown.
I joke all the time that all the bills come in my name now. But it’s not funny.
Light bill, rent, cable, cell phone, car note, car insurance, renter’s insurance, gas bill, credit cards, student loans… All of it is on me, and I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit. When I get paid, I actually have to budget my money because it has to last until I get paid again.
You mean I can’t blow twenty bucks at the ice cream truck like the old days? You mean I have to pay attention to how much things cost? You mean I can’t just throw it in the bag at a store anymore? What part of the game is this?
One day, I wanted a hot dog (judge ya granddaddy), and I couldn’t bring myself to buy hot dog buns because I knew they would only be useful for the eating of hot dogs, and then I flashed back to 1992, being in the grocery store with my mother and trying to convince her to buy hot dog buns. She wasn’t having it, either. So here I was, sad, realizing I’ve turned into my mother… And I still didn’t buy those buns. In fact, I scrapped the whole idea and bought chicken breasts. -_____-
Adulthood. The grand scam.
I appreciate being able to come and go as I please, but I don’t appreciate the same dishes greeting me when I come as when I go. I don’t appreciate not having anyone remind me to wake up on time. I don’t appreciate having to iron my own clothes, pump my own gas, sweep my own floors, and take out my own trash. I don’t appreciate having to figure out what that funky smell is after I left a bag of cheese to die one day. I don’t appreciate having to evict a lizard that took up residence in my living room. By myself.
But then a day like today comes, and I got up at 9:30, made a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and a waffle, and then I decided to get back into my bed.
And I realized being an adult isn’t so bad at all.