This little life of mine

The evidence is beginning to pile up. A Shaw's card and a CVS card dangle from my keychain. In the mail, not only do I receive bank statements, but also monthly IRA statements. That's right, I have a retirement account. My Sunday mornings are spent sipping cappuccino (from my very own cappuccino maker) as I leisurely peruse the morning paper. 

There's no more denying it. I'm a grown-up. A full fledged adult. No turning back now. How did this happen? I don't feel any different. I still like youthful stuff. I like to go out on weekends. Friends of mine are talking about renting a mechanical bull for Cinco de Mayo. And I think it sounds like fun. How can I be an adult and a kid at the same time, I wonder? 

I have figured out the answer. Adults have a secret club. They actually like fun stuff. They think dirty jokes are funny. They do tequila shots and dance to live music. My mom tried to tell me that adults weren't really a foreign species ( I wonder if she gets club demerits for telling an outsider?). And yet, even with a little forewarning, I am still shocked. 

My world did not come to a screeching halt the moment I got a real job. I did not cease to exist when I started bringing home a pay check. In fact, life got better! Holy leaping toadstools Batman! That's right, I have play money, and no homework. Welcome to the super secret grown-up club, no hazing required. Sweet deal!