I’m twenty seven today. If you had asked me ten years ago what I thought I would be like at this age, I would’ve said that I probably would be married with kids and fully mature. Like a fine wine. Whatever the hell that is.
Instead, I’m not married, I don’t have kids and I’m still afraid of clowns. I also bought scented crayons today.
Okay, so I’m not the most mature twenty seven year old, but so what? Today, I am celebrating my inner child. Here are some of her favourite activities:
>Making beards out of bubble bath and pretending she’s an Ancient Greek philosopher.
>Prank phone calling Jack. Is your refrigerator running? *laughs at own genius*
>Making up songs about vegetables on her guitar that she can’t play. All together now “parsnips are just pale carrots, doo dah, doo dah…”
>Being terrified of clowns. I feel like one is behind me. Is there one behind me?
>Dressing her cat up as Sherlock Holmes.
>Buying scented crayons and not sharing them with her students because they’re all hers and nobody else’s.
>Crying inside (and let’s face it, outside) when someone yells at her.
>Choosing to watch Up with my geography class instead of An Inconvenient Truth. I’ll tell you what’s inconvenient Al Gore; your voice.
>Having lots of secret stuffed animals like The Notorious P.I.G., Hooty, Chairman Meow, Teddy Roosevelt, etc.
>Singing along to the Spice Girls in my car. “Yo, I’ll tell ya what I want, what I really really want…” Brilliant.
>Doing the grocery shopping and buying completely unnecessary items. Wait, is play dough unnecessary?
So here’s to being twenty seven and still having no idea what I’m doing. Huzzah.
And I still have these conversations with my mother: