“My friends call me Mom”
Getting called “mom” is one of the rewards you reap when you conduct yourself as the picture of responsibility. I like to think of myself more of a Lorelai Gilmore than a Carol Brady, but if we’re being real, I’m probably a Tami Taylor. If I were any more prepared for life’s day to day grind, people might get me confused with the local boy scouts.
When I was a little girl, my mother’s purse was an enchanting place. I always imagined it was a bit like Mary Poppins’ tote, carrying everything except a kitchen sink. While I do not have any children yet, nor do I dance around with carousel horses with my friend Burt, my purse if fully equipped with life’s necessities. Need an Advil? I got you covered. A Band-Aid? I have that too. Hand sanitizer? Tide-to-Go? Gum? A tampon? Tums? A light snack? You know I have it all. So if you are ever asked who you’d want to be with when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, I’m your girl (or you might pick a car mechanic, but that’s almost cheating).
“I taught someone how to boil water”
Cooking lessons with friends have become somewhat of a regular occurrence, particularly when the recipe in question calls for the cooking of raw meat. Fielding question-and-answer sessions entitled “Does this meat smell weird?” or “How long do I need to cook this” helps me pass the time between Bachelor Mondays and Scandal Thursdays. In addition to the grown-up points I receive for knowing basic recipes and cooking tips, I think I deserve bonus points for explaining on more than one occasion during the past four years that the weird smell coming from the fridge is called expired milk and it should be thrown away immediately.
“I feel like spell-check and the reminder app”
Now this one may be a result of my occupation as an English teacher or as I prefer to think, it could be related to my exceptional intelligence, but if you’re the adult in your crew you may be able to relate to the incessant proof-reading of emails, essays, and resumes, or the frequent reminders to your friends that they probably should finish their homework before the head STR (for the other moms out there, STR means “Straight to Ricks”).
“Internship specialist? That’s me!”
Despite the fact that I have never (nor will I ever have to) applied for a traditional summer internship, I often find myself fielding questions about the internship process and general timeline. While I do have experience with resumes and cover letters, relaying tips about the job search often makes me question how I learned the information in the first place. I never mind answering questions but they always come with the warning that I have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about.
“Bills, bills, nothing but bills”
Paying bills is the ACTUAL bane of my existence, yet of course, as the grownup, the job has been assigned to me. Spending over a collective 4 hours on the phone with Comcast is obviously my favorite way to pass time when I’m not knitting or organizing my sensible shoe collection.
“Are you really going out in that?”
I have only been to Rick’s a handful of times due to frequently finding myself stepped on or being elbowed in the head (though that’s an entirely different story) but more often than not I feel that I am the most covered up human in the room. The last two times I’ve been there I was wearing Ugg boots and sweaters that I’ve appropriately worn to teach my eighth graders. Getting ready with my roommates is always a laugh as they’ve been quoted on numerous occasions asking if I’m “really going to wear that out?” Upon further investigation it appears that the appropriate attire for Ricks includes high heels and shirts that expose my naval.
Images courtesy of Rachel Cohen, Seventeen Magazine, and Giphy.