Ask a child what it means to be a grown up, and they will probably answer something along the lines of “out of school”, or “can drive a car”, or “lives by themselves”. Legally speaking, a grown up is a non-minor “adult”, someone over the age of 18 who can vote, join the military, and buy useless things on TV without asking their parents.
Technically speaking, I am a grown-up, a bona fide adult. Plus I can legally drink, making me even more grown-up than the guy who can only buy cigarettes.
But am I? Really? The older I get the more I come to understand just how non-grown-up I really am.
I still feel uncomfortable being the first to pee in a public restroom. I don’t like hanging my leg over the side of the bed for fear of “something” that might come up from underneath (I even had this mentality when I was using a mattress box. You know, the base with absolutely no space underneath it.) Hell, I even still have the “ewww, kissing” reaction when I see blatant PDA.
You’d think that someone in their 20’s wouldn’t be like this. Granted, I have “grown-up moments: when I stress about bills and employment and friend’s weddings, but those are rare. In between those moments though, you can find me walking along the sidewalk stepping over the cracks out of concern for “breaking my mom’s back” (I’m such a good daughter ^_^).
Even when I’m in “grown-up clothes” at work in full out business attire, I often catch myself rocking back and forth on my high heels, the same way I did when I was 8.
When my relatives scold me for being childish, I giggle and run off to hide under the blankets while stealthily avoiding helping out in making dinner.
When I go grocery shopping, I stop and stare at the sour gummy worms and debate with myself whether those $3 are worth it, every single time.
When I wear dangly earrings, I can’t help but shake my head every few minutes to hear them clinking against themselves. They’re like mobile wind chimes strapped to your head!
Sure, I’m a grown-up. I work, I drive a car, I pay bills, I talk about politics and the economy. But squirming right beneath that outer facade of adulthood, there’s a 10 year old kid screaming I WANT THE SHINY PLATE when passing out dishes at dinner.