Tired of Being Adult

I am tired of being adult. 

A combination of things has conspired to make me have to be on my best of behaviors entirely too long. I have had to act proper in public, be nice on the internet, bite my tongue too often, stay within my budget, make all appointments, keep the house presentable, and eat all the right things which means cook.

I told my sister just last night I wish my community had just one drive through restaurant. Just one so I could drive through and order all the things I know I cannot eat while honking at people for being too slow in front of me and playing very loud music with the windows rolled down. I cannot afford the speeding ticket but I would love to race from one end of the town to the other (a whole mile) and flip the finger at any slowpokes who got in my way.

While out on the distant plains with a long standing friend we both broke down in hysterical giggles. She had been adult for too long too. Fortunately there was nobody around unless a drone flew over. But it was small relief. I just really need to be a brat! I am itching to tell someone to go  to . . . . (pick the location of your choice.) And I have a list in mind.

There was a little girl

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

THERE was a little girl,
And she had a little curl
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good,	5
And when she was bad she was horrid.
One day she went upstairs,
When her parents, unawares,
In the kitchen were occupied with meals,
And she stood upon her head	10
In her little trundle-bed,
And then began hooraying with her heels.
Her mother heard the noise,
And she thought it was the boys
A-playing at a combat in the attic;	15
But when she climbed the stair,
And found Jemima there,
She took and she did spank her most emphatic.

But, unlike Jemima, I almost always got away with it. Maybe it is just a second childhood thing.