Growing up is a strange experience. Now, don’t get me wrong – I’m not at all trying to say that I consider myself a grownup. (I’m only saying that, since my 24th birthday has recently come and gone, actual adults are no doubt looking at me differently.
Though I may be almost a quarter of a century old, I don’t think that I should have to act maturely all the time. I should be able to have fun and giggle while I’m in public without having to endure the death glare of disapproval from any nearby adults.
I have come up with the perfect solution to how I can go out in public, have fun, AND be seen as a responsible adult by onlookers.
I need to rent a child.
Ok, ok. I can see how this may sound crazy, and I assure you that there is no need to cart me off the loony bin just yet. Hear me out.
I don’t really have the time to have my own child right now (you know this because I don’t even have enough time to regularly update my blog!), and I definitely don’t have the money for my own child – especially since I am now working a full time unpaid internship. Still, I could totally benefit from having a kid around once in a while, and here’s an example of why:
I love eating out at restaurants; the food is delicious and I don’t have to make it OR do the dishes. The only unpleasant part? Waiting for the food. It’s so BORING just sitting there with nothing to do. Breezy and I can’t even take part in an interesting conversation, because the kinds of conversations we have are the kind that you have to pay extra for because they are too awesome for cable television and have to be aired on HBO or FX or something. So, instead, we just sit and wait for the food, occasionally whispering crass comments about the people around us for our own amusement.
Sure, people-watching is alright, but I want to be able to color and doodle and play a goddamned game of tic tac toe if I want to, without being judged by the other “grownups” who are waiting patiently for their food while conversing about politics that they don’t even fully understand but pretend they do anyway, and the other grownups just go ahead and believe them because they are just repeating what they heard on talk radio that morning, so it sounds pretty legit. I mean, what the steaming shit am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs? Play footsie with Breezy under the table? Who does those things, anyway?
I would totally ask for a pack of crayons, but I’m afraid of what I’ll look like to the other grownups.
BUT! Insert child:
I'd look like Mother of the Year, coloring with little Breezy Jr.