Since the Edder went away to what I have deemed “Man Camp” this past weekend (i don’t know what it is, or where it is, i just know it involves some of his frat brothers and fishing and shooting things and lots of smoked meats and that when he comes home the first thing i say to him is ‘go take a shower before you sit on my furniture’), I decided to be a hermit all weekend. I’ve been…. weary. I know of no other word to describe it. Yes, I slacked and didn’t run, I didn’t work out, I rested my brain and my body. Just trust me that it was needed. I’m leaving it at that for now.
OOOOO but! I also got a pedicure, that was my one ‘activity’ for the weekend. A pedicure. My feet are now smooth and pretty and my toenails are a delightful deep eggplant color. So, my one weekend activity with another human involved getting a pedicure with my bffl (who is having a baby soon–like in a week kind of soon). During said treatment our conversation turned to the fact that while we are ‘adults’ we keep wondering when we will actually feel grown up.
For me I guess I kind of thought a career would do the trick. Um. No. I work in radio, I wear yoga clothes to work half the time, bring my dog with me on a near daily basis and cry at my boss on the reg… not a grown up job.
Then I thought buying a house would be the true mark of a grownup. I’ve owned a home for seven years now, we have a 15 year mortgage that was responsibly refinanced and will be paid off early (dave ramsey-ites right here). Nope, still don’t feel like a grown up,
Surely things like investments, 401(k), savings accounts, a car loan, blahblahblahblah would all point to responsibility that equals being a grown up, right? Nope, doesn’t matter. Still don’t feel legit.
This left me with one more ‘thing’ to put me in that ‘full on’ grownup category. I thought having a baby would make me feel like a legit grown up. Well my dear friend, mom of one two-year-old, soon to be mom of TWO, let me in on the secret. Turns out that’s not the case. My very pregnant, very responsible friend is still wondering when she is going to feel like a grown up.
I’m starting to get the sense that all of us 30-somethings are just faking it. We are faking our way through this grown up thing, deep down we are still 8 year old kids just playing house!
It probably doesn’t help that my feelings of being an inadequate grownup were solidified last night when our refrigerator went out. Because when things break in your house, you have to be an adult. You have to take money out of savings and do things like fix or buy new appliances, right?
So, being the responsible adults that we are, we took all that food we had in that broken fridge/freezer (okay, fine i admit, there was barely anything in there… further proof… bad adult) we shoved it in our gigantic kegerator.
There it is. Right there. Proof. I am not really a grown up. We are just pretending. We store the little food we kept in our broken fridge, in our kegerator. The good news here is this: we chose food over beer. So that’s a step in the right direction, right? We emptied the kegerator of the kegs that were in it. The kegerator is now home to eggs, orange juice, butter, cheese, green olives and more salad dressing than one human should ever have on hand. You know, the important stuff.
Confession time. I have a real problem with hoarding salad dressing. I have a strict ‘expiration date’ policy in my fridge. Which means I go to the grocery and usually pick up salad dressing if I’m in that aisle. Because holy crap what would happen if I wanted a salad and didn’t have any salad dressing???!!!! TRAGEDY! Then I get home and realize that I already have eight bottles of that exact salad dressing. That are not expired. You see the problem here. I am a salad dressing hoarder, okay??!
You want to know the most ridiculous part of all of that? More often than not, when we have salad for dinner/lunch (a weekly occurrence–do i get grown up points for that?) I make the dressing myself, high grade olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Boom. Best salad dressing ever. Seriously. WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!
No wonder nothing will grow in my uterus for more than four weeks and five days. Good grief.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to hunt down a new fridge. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll just use that money to buy more salad dressing. And wine.