Welcome to this edition of "How to Know if You're an Adult." Today, I thought we could chat about telltale signs of adulthood as evidenced by daydream material.
OK, so we're not going to be that formal about this. Really, I just want to talk about how I'm presently daydreaming about Whole Foods (i.e. a grocery store; an establishment that sells food; a land of fresh, non-pesticide laced produce and very, very, very expensive nuts). I'm also daydreaming about re-organizing my pantry.
That's right. I'm not daydreaming about exotic beach vacations or budget-free shopping trips to NYC or whatever else might be more acceptably interesting to daydream about. No, I spend my tiny little amount of free time daydreaming about where I wish I could buy my groceries AND how I could organize them in a more aesthetically pleasing manner once I bring them home.
My two year old lays in his crib and stares up at the ceiling daydreaming (probably) about being a mini-pirate or a Thomas the Train conductor or living it up in a bounce house or maybe finally being free to roam the neighborhood unhindered by his ever-vigilant parents who always seem to be saying, "No" and "Don't eat that."
I used to find myself lost in teenage daydreams about whether I would marry Mr. Darcy or Mr. Knightly (today's Edward Cullen or Peeta Mallark), or traveling to Italy where Nutella is a breakfast food, or writing a young adult book series that would land me a brilliant interview with Matt Lauer, where he later invites me to spend the weekend with his family in the Hamptons.
Now, I dream of places that sell free-range chicken and organic produce and handmade cheese. What has happened to me?
Adulthood, that's what. It's also why I love the hardware store and having my car washed and watching BBC dramas. The cheap thrills just keep getting more mundane.
I also really love Cracker Barrel, eating dinner at 5:30, wearing fuzzy houseshoes and, just recently, crocheting. Help me.
Thirty-four is just around the corner and I'm currently considering celebrating in the chemical-free cleaning products aisle at Whole Foods.
Mid-thirties, here I come.
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