The other night I met a 36-year-old man named Lorne. He works at Meadow Gold, doing custodial work and making $15/hour. That's up $4 from what he was making when he started working there earlier this year. But here I am telling Lorne's story when I should be telling mine.
Lorne thought I looked 18. Perhaps his view is skewed, given his A/S/L. Then I thought about how much different I actually am from 18. Maybe more serious, more confident, less naive, an Allyson with a credit card and taste for Anthropologie.
But I still like coloring. And drawing stick figures. And for my 21st birthday I asked for a bike. A beautiful, red, shiny bike with a white basket. No streamers or baseball cards to turn my bike into a motorcycle - yet.
All in all, it's possible that I'm just as close to being 11 as I am to being 21. Mostly I'm okay with that, because I'm enjoying my summer. It's worth making a little less money to go swimming with your friends on pioneer day, or staying up late when you know that (if you were a real grown up) you'd go to bed early. There's a secret thrill in doing exactly what you know is not the responsible thing.
And with that I will make my public, internet confession: some nights I don't brush my teeth before I go to bed. In a very sick, dentist disapproved sort of way, I enjoy knowing I'm doing something that isn't good for me. I'm sorry to anyone who might be disappointed.