Young adult

Do you know how you can tell you’re becoming a grown up? If you find yourself after work on a kid’s playground catching a toddler going down a slide. That’s how. I don’t mean just any random toddler. Because if you’re doing that there is something wrong with you. I mean your friend’s toddler, that same friend who shares your memories of days with questionable choices and who knows enough information to potentially put you in jail. For a short period of time, nothing too crazy.

 

You’re also a grown up if you mutual decide that a walk to the playground is also a good exercise activity. Not exactly a complete work out because you’re still lazy for that, but you also can no longer be blissfully ignorant to the state of your health. Either because by this time you have developed some sort of chronic condition that demands your attention, or either because you finally start feeling guilty for wearing your body down and it’s sort of time to give back.

 

The conversations don’t change much though. If before it was talking smack about people at school, now it’s talking smack about people at work. This runs in a natural course in between occasional gooing and cooing to the toddler. Here, I’ll visualize this for you. ‘And then this bitch turns and says…*smile to the baby* aren’t you a cutie…so this bitch says…’ Can’t give you any additional details on this topic as the people from work might be reading this (and if they are, imagine them doing guess work exactly which bitch I’m referring to).

 

Do know you’re becoming a grown up, if afterwards you decide to have a glass of wine. Not just any wine, but you know exactly the type and the maker of wine you are currently in the mood for. And you might even have a little discussion on whether to go with the one from Chile or California. Rewind five years back and presence of alcohol and price were the only deciding factors. Also, at the register you don’t pull out a pile of money everybody chipped into. You have another cute argument on who’s going to pay. And you insist it should be you because you’re coming to visit, and you’re a guest, and you have manners.

 

What else? You don’t eat chips with your wine. Or any dry/salty/packaged snacks for that matter. You have fruit with cheese because it complements the wine.   I can’t believe I just typed that because I used roll my eyes at that phrase. But it’s true, goddammit.

 

And then you leave before midnight because it’s a busy day tomorrow. Wake up after a reasonable amount of sleep. And feel just fine. Because that glass of wine is not eating away at your organs. Maybe growing up is not so bad.

 

P.S. I hereby officially declare my friend’s child a Gerber baby.    IMG_20150728_200825

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