All Growed Up

It suddenly hit me today as I was hammering out terms for a contract for subcontractors for my new company. I'm all growed up.

John and I have been living every kid's dream for the past 6 years. We go cool places, we buy all the toys we want, hang out with our friends all over the world, go to bed whenever we want, have slumber parties every night and best of all, buy sugar cereals and open up as many boxes at the same time as we want to. (Actually, we really don't eat sugar cereals, but we could if we wanted to.)

With the new company, the baby and rental properties, we now have to be, and I hate to say it, R-E-S-P-O-N-S-I-B-L-E. People actually depend on us now. What are they thinking?

We're going to have to clean up our potty mouths, stick to a routine, and plan ahead for nights out and weekends away instead of just deciding to go to Napa at 10:30 at night.

A human life is going to need us to take care of all it's neccesities, practice first aid, know why the sky is blue and how to mend a broken heart.

People are also depending on me to pay them regularly so they can feed their own families and provide a roof over their heads.

Still others depend on us to provide nice housing for them, making sure that the management company unclogs their toilet and that the mortgage and taxes are paid.

Up until now, the things people relied on me for were thowing good parties, planning vacations, knowing the best restaurants and making great fashion accessories.

Yesterday, I wandered aimlessly through Nordstoms, my favorite store, looking at shoes, bags and jewelry, not really wanting anything because I'd rather save my money for 529 plans and the home remodel. With all the great red patent leather sandals out, you would think at least one pair would go home with me. (Ignore the fact that I already have 3 pairs, because it's not about what you already have, it's about the next outfit.)

WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME? At what point did babydoll dresses, Hello Kitty pens and 4am pub crawls become inappropriate, let alone unappealling?

So friends and family, please do me a favor.

• If you see my sense of style becoming terry cloth robes and acrylic sweaters, shake me and scream, "Fashion First".
• If you hear me say, "Because I said so" or "You likey you takey", immediately take me to Luna Park for a mojito.
• In general, please stop the insanity. I am 26, I can feel it.

And please, please don't stop raiding my girl room for fashion accessories. Once that happens, I'll know that you think I'm dressing like someone's mother.