Y'all Come Sit a Spell

We need to talk about it.  Come sit a spell.

I have paid the bills.

Not a bill.

The bills.

Electricity. Water. Gas. Insurance. Car. House.

Money has been electronically dispatched in every direction necessary to maintain my continued participation in modern civilization.

And I would like some recognition.

Not a parade.

That would be excessive.

But perhaps a small certificate.

Congratulations. You Have Successfully Adulted for Another Month.

Maybe a sticker.

I would wear the sticker.

Because here’s the thing nobody adequately explained when we were children:

Adulting is stupid.

We were sold an entirely different version.

When you’re ten, adulthood looks fantastic.

Adults can stay up as late as they want.

Adults can eat cookies before dinner.

Adults can buy things without asking permission.

Adults can get in the car and just GO SOMEWHERE.

Nobody stops them.

There are no permission slips.

No bedtimes.

No one standing over them saying, “You can’t have ice cream. You haven’t eaten your vegetables.”

It looked like freedom.

And technically, I suppose, it is.

I can absolutely eat ice cream for dinner.

But apparently I have to buy the ice cream.

Which means I have to have money.

Which means I have to work.

Which means there are taxes.

And insurance.

And retirement accounts.

And passwords.

So many passwords.

Why do I need seventeen passwords simply to exist?

And every single institution has different requirements.

One needs twelve characters, a number, a symbol and the blood of a virgin.

Another doesn’t allow symbols.

A third says I can’t use any of my previous twelve passwords.

Sir.

I am trying to pay you.

Why are you making this difficult?

Then there are appointments.

The dentist would like to see you.

The eye doctor would like to see you.

The doctor would like to see you.

Your car would like an oil change.

Your insurance company would like to discuss your policy.

Your bank has an important message.

Your credit card company wants you to review a statement.

Your utility company has updated its terms of service.

I do not care.

I have never once awakened in the morning and thought:

You know what would really complete this day? Reviewing Duke Energy’s updated terms of service.

But adulthood isn’t finished with you yet.

Because once you’ve paid everybody and made the appointments and changed the passwords and signed the forms, you discover that your house has needs.

Apparently houses require maintenance.

This feels like something that should have been disclosed earlier.

Air filters need changing.

Gutters need cleaning.

Smoke detectors start chirping at 2:17 in the morning.

Appliances develop opinions.

Trees occasionally attempt entry.

And there is always something somewhere in the house that needs caulk.

Nobody tells children about caulk.

They should.

Forget algebra.

Sit those kids down and say:

“One day you will own property, and you are going to need to know what this tube of goo does.”

That is practical education.

And adulthood never ends.

There is no point where someone comes by, checks your work and says:

“Excellent. You’ve completed everything. You’re free to go play now.”

No.

You finish the laundry and people immediately begin wearing clothes again.

You buy groceries and people eat them.

You clean the kitchen and someone requires a glass.

You pay the electric bill and thirty days later those greedy bastards want more money for more electricity.

I just paid you.

What did you do with it?

And perhaps the greatest betrayal of all is that there isn’t actually an adultier adult coming.

Remember being young and something went wrong?

There was always an adult.

Somebody knew what to do.

Pipe leaking?

Get an adult.

Car making a weird noise?

Get an adult.

Strange letter from the government?

Definitely get an adult.

Now something happens and you look around for the responsible person.

And eventually you realize:

Oh, shit. It’s me.

I am the adult.

This seems like a serious oversight in the system.

I don’t remember applying for the position.

I certainly wasn’t interviewed.

And yet here I am, apparently authorized to make decisions involving property, money and other living creatures.

So yes.

I paid the bills.

I handled the paperwork.

I did the things.

Civilization may continue for another thirty days because I have fulfilled my administrative obligations.

And now I would like my sticker.

Preferably one that says:

I ADULTED TODAY.

Because tomorrow somebody is going to need something else.

And adulting is stupid.