On occasion, members of my peer group, members of my family, and other assorted people ask me when the hell I'm going to get married and have kids.
Well, first off, there needs to be a guy involved. Preferably one who doesn't make me want to gouge my eyes out whenever he opens his mouth to speak, and one who is not already married, or totally gay. Those are basically my minimum requirements.
Secondly, I THINK I'm still too much of a kid myself to go out and start making babies. I'm all for putting procreation on hold until certain criteria are met.
But this leads into an important question... When is it that I'm going to start feeling like an adult?
If we're going by the response that my knees give me on a fairly regular basis, I've already crossed the threshold into adulthood... In fact, if you were to ask the joints strategically located between my hips and my ankles, they would tell you that I should probably be damn near menopausal by now... But I prefer not to ask my knees, because, well, they suck.
If you were to ask my uterus, she'd tell you that she's been ready to cook a baby until it's nice and tender since I was 12... We're not asking her either. She makes my life hell.
If we were to address my psyche, it would tell you that I'm still a kid, and as such I am still far too concerned with drinking until my liver has achieved a hardness close to that of a diamond.
Current reports from the liver indicate that we've only achieved the hardness of shale at the moment. (We have a long way to go!)
My psyche has also availed itself to pay attention to my clientèle. (If anything, the job I have at the moment devalues one's opinion of the merits of procreation... Stupid people are breeding, and they are doing it at an astronomical rate!)
(It should be noted that none of the regular readership here who happen to have children fall into the stupid breeders club... You are all intelligent, and your kids are frickin adorable... In fact I've mentioned to a few of you that I want to kidnap your kids, not because you are bad parents, but because your kids are just awesome!)
But occasionally I'll see a cute kid while out and about, and part of me pipes up, "HEY! That's an adorable kid! I want one of those!"
That part of me is rapidly squashed by the part of me which remembers my financial status and it is this part which screams, "YOU HAVE DONE LOST YO' MIND!"
So once again, we're back to the point at hand... What makes me more or less an adult?
I'm in that age range where a large number of the people I know are pairing off and saying "I dos." Many of them are reproducing. I have the job of a responsible adult... Though my friends all still get the giggles when I have to remind them that juvenile mentoring is a part of my job.
And then it hit me.
Last week, I went out looking for a piece of furniture. I sought out a leather club chair for my living room. And I found one that I really liked. One that went with my other furniture. And I said to myself, "You know, if you don't buy it now, when you're ready to buy it, it'll be discontinued, and you won't be able to get it."
It was as I plunked down my debit card and came to the realization that I just paid several hundred dollars of my hard earned money in cash for one single item, that I realized I was toying with the fringes of adulthood. I had just spent a large sum of money on a practical item which didn't pertain to keeping my car running (since my car is a big part of my job, car expenses don't count.) I don't own my own home, my student loans are FAR from being paid off, and I am not looking at purchasing a new car any time in the foreseeable future... HOLY CRAP. I am on the fringes of adulthood.
After the chair was delivered, I sat in it and pondered my fate.
Was I to join that long grey line of old fogeys? Was it possible? How long until I should start counting down to retirement? And how long after that would follow my death? (Most assuredly my death being headlined as "tragic spinster mauled by a pack of wild dogs while on the way home from the store after purchasing yarn for some project or another.")
I liked the chair a lot... But was I ready for this level of commitment? Was I ready to admit that part of my childhood died when I spent that chunk of change?
Well, that chair is in my living room, and it is damn comfortable... When I fall asleep in it, I like to equate it more to the naps of early childhood than to the naps of senile retirees... But who knows.
Maybe its just the impending birthday looming which has me on edge...
You be the judge.