I never thought the day would come when I would refer to
myself as a grownup. Then it did. Fast-forward eight years and now my mom
refers to me as a grownup. More accurately she calls me, “My grown up daughter
who dwells in my basement.” I mean, honestly? I’m not THAT grownup. She thinks
it’s funny, I do not.
I know
that in the eye of the law I was considered an adult on my eighteenth birthday.
However, whilst petting my beagle and nursing a mug of hot chocolate I couldn’t
help but wonder why my mom woke up one day and thought of me as an adult. I
suddenly remembered that I needed to transfer money between my MULTIPLE bank
accounts to make sure that I wouldn’t overdraft when my car insurance company
so nicely, automatically, retrieved my payment. I then said, out loud for all
to hear, “I can’t wait to see what my car insurance will be with all my deductibles!”
Grown up problems…
Who would
have thought that the little girl eating a butter sandwich on white bread with
all the crust cut off would one day be allowed to use the toaster, draw her own
bath water, pay bills, and eat multi-grain bread by the loaf? To quote my older
sister I sign off with, “We’re adults now, and we like to eat interesting
things.”
