I’m too old to be on this website. I don’t keep up with current lingo. I prefer to stay in versus going out. My friends consistently refer to me as the “mom” of the group, even though I am the only one that doesn’t have a kid. I turn thirty in a few months, and I’m actually looking forward to it. I will no longer be classified in the genus of a carefree 20-somethings, my actions and preferences will finally match my age.
I’m married and it’s pretty great. I own my home in a neighborhood full of other young professionals. The vast majority of my days consist of going to work, coming home, cooking dinner, watching some tv, and going to bed at 9 p.m. I prefer going to quiet wine bars over a bar with a live band so I can actually hear the conversation I’m having with my friends. I am very much aware that I am an old lady trapped in a young(ish) body. Acknowledging my personal repertoire, I feel it is necessary to share an unpopular opinion: being an adult is kind of awesome.
Think about it. Do you want to go to the liquor store and pick up six bottles of wine? You can do that. It’s Wine Wednesday, which means 15% off, and you know that Cashier Fred won’t judge you. You’re saving money and you still get the end result of getting drunk at home in your sweatpants. Do you want to go out and buy a new wardrobe because you lost thirty pounds? Get you some. Swimsuit season is fast approaching, and these newly formed abs need to see some sun. Do you want to go out and have yourself a nice steak dinner? Ron Swanson would be proud of you for being American. We are old enough that we are the new veterans in the workplace. Sure, Bob has been with the company for 40 years, but Bob is just an old guy. You’re the future of the company. You are the one that the new kids turn to when they have questions, and they still want to drink with you at happy hour.
Sure, sometimes it’s awful. You’re responsible for a mortgage or rent, bills, car payments, and insurance. You have to actually do laundry instead of just buying new clothes to replace the dirty ones. You are disgusted with yourself because you just said, “I just don’t understand kids these days. Why the tight pants?” Not to mention the fact that you heard a recording of yourself speaking the other day and realized you sound exactly like your mother. Sometimes work becomes such a focus of your day that it follows you home and you dream of winning the lottery, mostly so you don’t ever have to read another damn email from Marge in HR about the dress code policy every time someone new starts.
Was college fun? Absolutely. Would I go back to the days where I could do kegs and eggs in the morning, go to the river and day drink, close down a bar at night, and eat a Big Mac before bed all in a day? Definitely. Last time we all tried doing that, Cliff shit his pants at 1 pm and Cassie projectile vomited on a bouncer. I finally figured out that I don’t need an adult around because I am the adult, and I am feeling pretty good about that..