Old Laaaady

I’m not a particular fan of the recently-coined phrase “adulting” (or adulating, as my computer suggests), but I know that I make a big enough stink around these parts about the notion of adulthood and the fact that I happen to be in it to come off as annoying.  Maybe it feels so itchy and ill-fitting because I don’t actually see myself as a grown-up, and sometimes I forget my role, as predetermined by my age, until the responsibilities of, well, adulthood smack me in the face like a wet rag. 

With the arrival of my 26^th birthday, I began noticing myself being stretched more than ever before like a gummy worm or a rubber man across the chasm of nonacceptance into the very real and undeniably stressful world of adult responsiBILLities like: oh, I dunno, bills?  Sure, this particular year doesn’t feel much different from 25 and technically I’ve been an adult for quite some time now, but I think it’s the idea of being “over the hill” of my 20’s that has me hiding in a blanket fort of protestation, safe from the daunting prospect of being 30 in a mere four years.  Admittedly, I’m not in college anymore and haven’t been since 2012, I have my own bank account and credit cards, I haven’t lived with my parents for 8 years, and I’ve already voted in 2 presidential elections, so... 

If it looks like an adult and smells like an adult, it's probably an adult, right?

FIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE. 

But that doesn’t mean I feel like one.  On occasion, I’ll wonder if I’m really more qualified for life as a grown-up without parental supervision than the 6^th grade students at my elementary school, wondering what sets me apart from them, aside from the fact that I remember Y2K.  Back in 2013, I even speculated that I wouldn’t feel like a proper adult until I was either 25 or married, whichever came last. Haha, 2012 Katherine, HA. HA.   

Also, sometimes it’s easier to feign ignorance about itemizing tax deductions and paying insurance premiums because I’d rather someone else take care of it all for me and because maybe if I don’t look it directly in the eyes it will go away.   (Denial is something adults like, right?)

In preparation for having to pay for my own health insurance upon turning the dreaded 26, I decided to capitalize on getting my checkups and appointments done before my birthday, scheduling my own dentist appointment for maybe the second time in my life.  [Super Long Side Note: The whole time I was receiving my consultation, check-up, and cleaning, I couldn’t stop thinking about how weird this situation had become. Immediately upon meeting three different strangers, I laid back with my head practically in their laps and let them stick their hands in my mouth.  I NEVER RARELY EVER let people stick their hands in my mouth, nor do I ever have the urge to have a stranger let me stick my hands in theirs.  And yet, in this situation, it’s weirdly okay and socially acceptable (just the first part, not the latter)? I’ve never been that embarrassed or self-conscious about my mouth before, but in this particular instance, I was hyper-aware of the unusual and intimate nature of this check-up.  I felt as though my new dentist was a fortune teller as he poked around my fillings and divined what kind of orthodontia I’d had done and commented on the teeth I’d forgotten I’d had pulled. (*Ahem* that's 17 total, yes).  As part of his inspection, this man I’d met only moments earlier and had never seen before in my life was rubbing my face, massaging my lower jaw and lymph nodes, and kneading his fingers down the length of my neck, checking for tenderness in my muscles in what felt like a strange and unexpected (but not entirely unwelcome) dentist’s chair massage.  AND IT WAS WEIRD BUT OKAY! At least my teeth are clean and now I know about my receding gums and I was able to give out business cards to everyone.]

As much as I talk about being a grown-up, I realized that I’d finally crossed at least some kind of significant threshold when I overheard a friend discussing what they usually did with the money they received for Christmas.  I mused over what I would have done with any superfluous cash I might come into and was startled to realize that my first impulse would be to pay my bills and put it towards my student loan payments or my Roth IRA. (Because I’m old now and I have one.  I don’t know what to do with it or how to invest my money, but baby steps.)

The only things on my birthday wish list last month were an electric toothbrush and the admission fee to take the GRE.  

I’ve started worrying thinking about my fertility with a terrifying sense of urgency. 

I'm paying for multiple varieties of insurance, HELLO.  

In the last three weeks, I’ve had to spend +$600 on unforeseen car repairs.  Unfortunately, because I'm an adult, I have (barely) +$600, though the last thing I would ever want to spend it on would be unforeseen car repairs.   

I got myself a new credit card so I could earn sky miles.  

30-year old guys are starting to look more and more attractive (pun intended).  

Before I go to bed, I think about whether or not we’re actually going to get the carpets cleaned.  

On a Friday night, I usually just want to go home from my boring date so I can sew.  

I don’t hesitate to call “adults” (people my parents' age) by their first names anymore. PS. One of my best friends is 45.  

I’m not afraid to make phone calls.  

And perhaps the best part of it all: I’m (finally) starting to feel less apologetic about how my body looks and what pant size I wear because, oh, right: NOBODY CARES and IT DOESN’T ACTUALLY MATTER.  

Like, when did I get so elderly?