I’m 24 years-old now, and though that apparently makes me an adult in the eyes of everyone but the rental car industry, I sometimes forget that I’m not a teenager anymore. It happens every so often, like when my ID gets the once over at the liquor store, and I have to remind myself that it was legally issued to me by the government, not for $60 by a Boston University sophomore.
- I’ll never be a child prodigy. If someone discovered me to be outrageously good at something Oprah wouldn’t even care; as an adult, you’re just supposed to be talented by now. No one is making collectible dolls out of Susan Boyle, meanwhile little Jackie Evancho Barbies sit lonely on Toys ‘R Us shelves at Christmas.
- Being unemployed is no longer acceptable. Suddenly everyone is an amateur sleuth asking a million questions about what I do for work. I miss the days when I could pass off huge gaps in my resume as a time when “school was my full time job.” I did drink Barefoot Sauvignon Blanc like I was getting paid for it, but I guess I can’t forge a legitimate career path out of that.
- The ship has sailed for me and Teen Mom. Not that I wanted to be on Teen Mom, but I like keeping my options open. Now I have to wait another 15 years until I’m age appropriate enough to pursue my “Wife” fallback career, be it House, Army, or Mob. Not a girl, not yet a woman.
- I’ll never be shipped off to my distant aunt’s house to tame my wild ways only to unexpectedly have the best summer of my life when the dreamy, 17 year-old ranch hand and an unruly horse named Thunder teach me how to love again after tearing down the walls I built up during my secret struggle with illiteracy. Turns out, I didn’t mean to wander on to the neighborhood curmudgeon’s private property, I just couldn’t read the “no trespassing” sign.
- Getting up for Saturday morning TV is now out of the question. There are times when I’m in bed and I wonder if I would get up if the house was on fire, yet as a child I voluntarily got up on Saturday mornings to watch Saved By the Bell. I can’t believe I was ever that excited about anything, let alone Mario Lopez.
Dara Sussman is a comedic writer/performer and recent-ish graduate of Emerson College. She blogs over at BrunchforEveryMeal.com, a humor blog that is less about brunch and more about how much Ice loves Coco. For live-tweets of Friday Night Lights reruns, you can follow her on twitter (@daralaine)