How To Be an Adult (By Elodie, Who's 87% Sure She's Not a Kid Anymore)

I always assumed that when I became an adult, I would know it. I guess I thought one day some shifty-looking guy would show up at my door, glance left and right, thrust a heavy book at me and whisper, “Here’s the manual. You’re ready now. Read it, know it, live it. Tell no one of this meeting. You never saw me, and we never met. When you have finished with the book, kindly set it on fire. Good day.”

But that hasn’t happened yet, which either means I haven’t crossed that particular threshold or such a guy doesn’t exist, and we’re all on our own in this crazy world as we try to navigate the many twists and turns of adulthood. Alas! Never fear! I may not be very adultish, but I’ve seen adults doing things, so I’m a regular fountain of knowledge on the subject. Behold my findings:

Adults go to the bank. It’s not widely known exactly what goes on there. However, I think we can safely assume it involves strolling in and coming back out with fistfuls of cash that the tellers are just handing out like Halloween candy.

Adults do their laundry. Every time my laundry comes out fine, it just reinforces the belief that I can chuck wadded-up items of clothing in there, press random buttons, and get away with it. A true adult, however, knows exactly what to do with all those settings that confound and bamboozle the rest of us.

Adults use credit cards. Swipe this little piece of plastic anywhere, anytime, and enjoy the luxuries of a bottomless pit of money.

Adults make important phone calls. Who are they calling, exactly? Nobody knows. We do know that it's an important call, and the person on the other end of the line is important, and it's likely that they're discussing important things that are also really boring, like vegetables and income tax returns. Speaking of which...

Adults do taxes. We know, judging by televised debates and a certain amount of tea in the Boston Harbor, that all taxes are the root of human suffering and the leading cause of death for baby seals. But come on... income taxes? What? How do you do them? What even is a 1040 form? This one, I think, you can just have fun with. Write your "taxes" (by which of course I mean a random sequence of numbers and letters) on a napkin in crayon and send ‘em in, because if there’s one thing we know for certain in this world, it’s that the IRS loves napkin-taxes.

Adults go grocery shopping. I've observed that grocery shopping does not, sadly, involve clearing out the Pop-Tart aisle and manhandling the guy passing out free sausage samples. It involves buying floss, celery, and air freshener, and also pushing the cart with the haunted look of someone doing laps in hell.

Adults can do whatever they damn well please. Perhaps best of all, adults make the rules and apologize to no one. They can be perfectly high-functioning members of society, or shun the demands of everyday life and become a hobo juggling snow cones for nickels. They can live off Pop-Tarts. They can traumatize the free samples guy. The world is their oyster, and they can do anything! (But leave the sausage guy with a few samples and a shred of dignity. I mean, come on. There are boundaries.)

We'd write a comment here, but we're off to the bank to get a fistful of cash and make an important phone call about zucchini squash. AH, BEING AN ADULT IS SO REWARDING. Are you an adult yet?

Related post: Myths About Being an Adult