On My Recent Experiences as a Grown Up

As much as I am uncomfortable admitting it, I have somehow become an adult. I pay bills, have my own cat and apartment, and I don’t have to ask anyone’s permission before staying up past my bedtime. Really, being a grown up is just like being a kid, but you have to do more things by yourself. As I discussed in my last post, I still get tummy aches like I did when I was little, but no one goes out to buy crackers and Sprite for me anymore.

In the last month or so, I have involuntarily done a lot of grown-up things. When my car broke down a couple of weeks ago, my parents weren’t around to talk to any of the several car-related entities I had to contact for the next few days. Rather, I cried at Mr. AutoZone when he wouldn’t make my engine start. I then cried on Mr. Chevy Dealer because he said he couldn’t help me. I blubbered through a phone call with Mr. Triple A when my car stalled on an exit ramp, uncontrollably sobbed at Mr. Teddy the nice but possibly too-friendly Corvette Guy when he pushed my car out of the way, and then whimpered at Mr. Towing Services Man as he took poor, broken Sophie away. Basically, my coping mechanism for communicating what I need to others is to cry until they don’t ask me questions anymore.

Another thing I’ve done several times in my short life that I didn’t realize would change when I “grew up” is shopping for glasses. I remember the excitement of trying on all the styles in the store, especially the funky-colored frames I would never consider, until sliding the perfect pair over the bridge of my nose and the top of my ears. Last Sunday, I excitedly arrived at EyeMasters, ready to try on the frames I wanted, without a nagging parent persuading me to choose something more their style. If you wear glasses, then you know that glasses store salespeople are often unhelpful and uninterested in what looks good on your face. Standing alone in a big store of eye-glasses staring back at me was intimidating and I found that I, in fact, do not at all know what my face looks like. I also never knew all the things you have to put on glasses to make them anti-scratch, anti-glare, anti-ruin-in-purse or how expensive those things would be in addition to the cost of my frames and my super-specialized lenses.

Is this what it is to be an adult? Spend copious amounts of money if you want something done right and cry at people until they do what you say? Maybe I’ve got this figured out after all.

2 comments

  1. I find that as an adult, I've become a nicer person. When you're a kid, you can act like a punk and people say "oh he's just a kid," "he'll grow out of it," "or wow his parents need to straighten him up." But as an adult, if I'm rude to people outside my circle of friends, I've affected that persons day, or much worse, my coffee gets made slower or my bread goes on the bottom of the grocery bag.

    I've also found that I'm more conscience about my surroundings and how my actions effect the small world I live in. For example, now use those reusable grocery bags, I drive a Honda instead of my High School car which they no longer made due to environment concerns, I hold doors for people, and I'm a more courteous driver.

    I still don't recycle at home though, quite frankly, it's too difficult when you live in an apartment. I'm not given a bin or anything to separate my recycling. I'd buy my own, but I have no place to put it. If I put it on my balcony it's a $50 fine. And finally, I have no desire to walk down to the small recycling area in my complex. The bins are always full so I would have to pre-bag my recycling. I suppose I'm not that grown-up yet.

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  2. Crying at people til they stop asking questions? Sounds like a fairly adaptive coping mechanism hehe. Oh my, in those situations, it's like, once you pop, the fun don't stop, isn't it? Once that first tear comes, there's no going back. Ps... I've always wanted to need glasses so I can wear cool frames. I've taken to donning "nerd glasses" with no prescription to meet that need :) xoxo <3 www.rubygirlblog.com

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