“You need a professional wardrobe.” Mom said as we sat in my grandparents basement, on the old couches that had always been apart of the decor but had been relegated to the basement for the past ten years. I sunk deeper into the old cushions.
“Professional?” My nose and mouth were raised in a half disgusted look, not the full on “Lorraine Face” that maybe the only sign that I am actually related to my dear grandmother and my dad and friends liked to tease me about, but still showing my dislike of the idea.
“You can’t wear jeans and t-shirts at your internship.”
I sighed, knowing she was right but having never really thought about it before. Another change. Can I really pull off a professional look? Find something professional yet functional for getting down and playing with kids all day and possibly getting messy? And comfortable? And then another sad thought crossed my mind. One more week of EFY and then I really have to grow up.
My two closest/longest/childhood best friends/cousins Kacie and Chandra got married this summer. Kacie in June. Chandra in August. Many of my friends are celebrating their one or two year wedding anniversaries. Many of them have babies already. Living the Mormon dream. We’re not even to our fifth high school reunion yet. They all make me feel so young. I’m not ready to trade my freedom in yet. I would be a terrible wife and mother. I’m too selfish. I don’t know enough yet.
I got in my first car accident in April. It wasn’t my fault. My car was totaled. I was pretty banged up for a weekend. I had to deal with insurance and buy a new car while dealing with school, preparing for finals, applying for internships for after graduation, working, preparing to officially move out of my nightmare apartment and figuring out me and Blake. I felt stressed. I felt overwhelmed. I felt grown up.
I got called up for Jury duty in March. And I actually got picked. Despite having excellent excuses like a medical condition and school. They still picked me. I spent a week heading downtown to the courthouse and spending my whole day being a good citizen and participating in a fair trial for one of my peers. He really was one of my peers, about my age, and he had already made some bad choices that had ruined his life. We found him guilty. We sent him to prison. I was a part of that decision. I felt the weight of the responsibility. Many people older than me had never had that responsibility. I felt like a grown up.