a guest entry by Lizard
11
January 2003
|
I always thought that when I got to a certain age, I’d suddenly start thinking and behaving like an adult. Well, here I am 33 years old, and damned if I know what a grownup is supposed to act like. I’m firmly of the belief, now, that there are no grownups, just older people who are probably equally as fucked up as the kids who think they’ll know it all when they do a few more laps around the calendar. I am way too fond of fart jokes for a woman of my age. Hell, for a woman of any age, I suppose. And I know I’m not supposed to enjoy them, so I get all sheepish, even as I’m trying to stifle my giggles. Discussion of genitalia, too, can get me snickering away like a 12-year-old boy in “health” class. So you can imagine the hijinks when my three-year-old son, experiencing a little-boy erection, announces to a room full of people that, “My penis is big, Mommy!” And little kids cussing, well, that’s just the height of hilarity as far as I’m concerned. Though I might not find it so amusing the day my kid threatens to lose his shit if he has to play with the same fucking toys for one more goddamn day. Sadly enough, I sometimes have a sense of entitlement that’s more adolescent than I have any right to possess. I’ll look around at the wreck of my house and think how unfair it is that I should be expected to clean all that shit up. Why isn’t there someone sweeping up after me? Where’s my live-in maid? That no-fair attitude so popular among surly teenagers? Yeah, I’ve got that too, more than I care to admit. As you may have assumed, responsibility isn’t my strong suit, either. Yes, I can kick into super-high-über-responsible Mommy mode when it comes to my son, but when it comes to the little things, I want nothing to do with it. I don’t want to be the one holding the bag when the shit comes down, so I kind of whistle a happy tune and look up at the sky and all around whenever decision-making time rolls around. Except I still want what I want. I might not come right out and say I want Indian food for dinner, but I’ll nudge in that direction. And possibly sulk a little if things don’t pan out the way I’d like. I try too avoid the passive-aggressive behavior whenever I become aware of it, but it’s still a shameful little part of my M.O. And I’m bitter, bitter
I tell you, about the fact that spontaneity is no longer part
of my day-to-day existence. I desperately miss the days when I
could just pop out for a beer and end up straggling in two days
later, with my wallet empty and my underwear on inside out and
a big silly grin on my face, even though my head was splitting
open. The saddest thing is, even if my lifestyle allowed for So I’ve kind of given up hope
of ever being a real, live adult person. I may have the physical
maturity, but mentally, I’m stuck right there with Beavis
and Butthead. Which makes me less boring than the average Joe,
so rather than looking at it as a bad thing, I guess I’ll
just have to call it part of my charm. The notify reads lizardspace everyday.
|
