I hate being an adult, a responsible, grown-up who makes sensible, well-thought decisions.
It sucks donkey balls.
A while back, I lamented the fact that I asked for a washer and dryer for Christmas when, at the beginning of my marriage I distinctly remember stating that the giving of any appliance to any woman as a gift is a no-no tantamount to selling government secrets to the Evil Empire. But I asked for the washer and dryer, and I creamed the old set, and I smiled and jumped up and down, and was ecstatic. Happy.
Back in 2004 B.K. (Before Kids) I haughtily stated I have to scuba dive in Bonaire once a year or I'm just not right. Well, yeah, I know I'm not right in a general sense, but I lived for those six days each year when I could get on the reefs of Bonaire and float.
Not only have I not seen Bonaire in five years? I just voluntarily, without provocation, and of my own free will e-mailed the Ty-man the following:
I’m wondering if you and I can have a “stay”cation this year. As much as I want to go diving or go to the beach, we really can’t afford it. Plus? There is a lot of stuff that needs to be done around the house. For example, these wood floors really need to be waxed/buffed/whatever it is you do to hardwoods to make them look not so crappy. We need all the carpets cleaned, the garage cleaned out, yadda, yadda. Stuff like that. And if we could get the kids out of here for seven days, we could get it done. What do you think? Do you think your parents would go for it?
Seriously. That came out of me. The OMFGBBQ get me to the beach before someone gets skewered has been replaced with Sure. Whatever. We'll stay at home and clean the frakking house.
I don't understand it. I used to rail against people who got excited about cleaning the house. I would mumble under my breath about losers who asked for dishwashers for their birthday and then turned around and spent money on a couch instead of a trip to the beach. And now? I'm one of them. I'm one of those people. I shudder to consider that I've finally arrived. That I'm adult. That I'm looking forward to getting my house in order with nary a grain of sand or a drop of seawater in sight.
Somebody get over here and deprogram me. Quick. Because I'm obviously getting worse.