I am so over not being 5 years old.

Being an adult is nothing like we think being a grown up is.

Here’s how it breaks down, if you don’t have kids:

  • I will feel miserable after PT, but I don’t have a choice. She knows where I live.
  • Trash duty is usually mine, and I usually swear. It sucks.
  • I spent money today! Whoot! On making me look better? Oh no. When we get to be my age, we buy another crockpot and a convection/ toaster oven with a pizza drawer.
  • In the amazing shopping tour, I also bought hand soap in a ridiculously huge container, and convinced my other half to please get me a sandwich for dinner.
  • Don’t ask me why the original crockpot met an untimely death. It wasn’t me. Seriously.
  • All I want is a cookie. Just one. Not allowed until after mid June. So “This Fig walked into a bar” from Trader Joe’s suffices.
  • I DID get flirted with by a random salesman. He liked my jacket, my look, whatever. I just laughed and told him he was perfect for the job. I laughed because I had zero makeup on, my hair has been crazy, and I was looking back at the hubby 5 feet behind, shaking his head.

Making forts and holiday cookies might be behind, but there is still joy in laughter. Even if it’s at myself.


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