I incorrectly labeled myself an “adult” after I successfully finished my first load of laundry as a child.
After promptly realizing my mistake, I decided I would truly be an adult once I turned 18.
On my 18th birthday, once I realized that too was a joke, I thought perhaps graduating college would signify official adulthood.
Wrong again. In fact I think I may have gone backwards. Once I decided to move to Cali, I believed surely that would make me an adult, right?
Well, the move itself didn’t do the trick. However, I have since determined the specific milestones one must pass to ultimately be considered a full-blown adult. So, in order for me and probably me alone to consider you an adult, you must:
Discuss the weather with a stranger in an elevator.
Begin or at least try to begin watching Downton Abbey.
Physically make trips to the Post Office for various reasons.
Purchase a lint roller rather than just dealing with dog hair.
Cry over a Pier 1 sale.
Cry over a Target sale.
Cry over a Staples sale. Sure, you may not frequent Staples, but you like knowing that you have the option. And for a discounted price!
Be addressed as “ma’am” at Starbucks or Chick fil A. I think the Chick fil A employees are required to do this, but it sure cuts deep nonetheless.
Internally complain about the movie theatre and everyone inside it being too damn loud. And then throw a thunderous groan when some youth whips out his phone.
Crave a salad 1-2 times a day (Chick fil A counts) because you know that the better, less healthy food will make you tired.
Designate a portion of your monthly budget to coffee.
Designate a portion of your monthly budget to espresso shots for said coffee.
Regret how much money you’re spending on caffeine every month.
Purchase another coffee to deal with your regret stress.
Have pain. Just, like, in general.
Ask a younger person to explain the newest social networking site to you. Why are there so many?
Wonder why there are so many social networking sites.
Google “how to do insurance.” Word for word.
Return a purchase you intended to return.
Look up your credit score/attempt to build a credit score/learn exactly what a credit score entails.
Devote your snapchat solely to pictures and videos of your roommates’ dogs. This one feels a tad specific to me.
Invest in a badass frying pan.
I may or may not but definitely have done all these things. But I think the real lesson here is that no one ever really becomes an adult and, even more accurately, no one knows what the hell they’re doing. And that is all the reassurance I need.