Responsibilities: I'm Looking For Better Payout

Spencer, dahling, I do believe our prompt payments have made the hydrangeas bloom fluffier this year!

As we get older and take on more responsibilities, I feel like childhood traumas and insecurities should likewise be cancelled out.

I thought about this last night after we paid the mortgage. I started to get ready for bed. There was a zit on my chin. Ew. On my 27-year-old chin.

I briefly considered whether it's just been there the last 12 years and I never looked closely enough to notice it.

Nope. Definitely a brand new blob of grossness on my face.

WTF, and I mean it. We're being...responsible! We pay grown-up bills, and we do it on time. If getting married and moving somewhere new didn't mark our passage into adulthood, all the doggone paperwork for this house should have.

I'm pretty sure I signed away acne in one of those forms.

This is how it should go:

Brendon and Shannon log on to their bank's website and make their mortgage payment. On time.
They hold hands while they do it.
They compliment each other on their internet skills.
The bank accepts payment.
The young couple then lovingly tells one another how important they are.
Then they enroll in a marriage enrichment class at the local Y and go pick up litter at the park.

And as a result, they have perfect complexions. Like adults:

Perfect World Adult Decisions Skin

Yeah, I know, we're finding out that this is not the case.

And that's not the only mature aspect of adulthood with which I have beef. There are a few others that ought to offer reciprocating benefits...benefits that should've come with the end of childhood anyway:

• Going to work. Regularly. This should = End of Nightmares

Seriously, last night I had a nightmare about a puppy wreaking havoc at my mom's house. For some reason it was my fault, and when I tried to employ Cesar's method, everyone laughed at me.

And then I couldn't play the piano and somehow wound up naked in my Calculus class with a surprise test.

Again, I'm 27, and I go to work every day! Even when I want to sleep in. I do not want these kinds of dreams anymore.

• Making Dinner. This should = No Longer Worrying About Not Feeling Cool

In other words, a good home-cooked lasagna should translate into invites to birthday parties and really fabulous haircuts.

• Having a budget. This should = Not Falling Down 

Seriously, have any of you recently bit the dust? It's pretty stinkin' lame as an adult. I mean, it sucked as a kid, but as an adult a bruise on your forearm and bandaids on your face do not reflect well.

And you're being so responsible about spending, too. You should thereby defy gravity.

• Not hitting your siblings. This should = No Longer Seeking Dad's Approval

Not that I think I ever hit my brothers or sister. But I think a lot of people did. So it must be some sign of maturity to not succumb to sibling violence. 

Love us and Dad will love you even more

Why oh why then do I still want Dad to be proud of me? Why do I secretly hope he'll hang my paycheck up on the fridge next to my drawing of a turkey I made by outlining my hand?

"Look, everyone, my daughter's an artist...AND she gets paid!" 

Why do I want anyone's approval? I don't even hit when I'm mad! That should free me of this dumb trait.

• Having a savings account with a balance greater than $0. This should = Not Having to Pee at Inopportune Moments

I promised myself when I turned 26 that I would no longer "hold it" in any situation. I was an adult, so I would excuse myself to pee whenever necessary.

"Good job, Shannon! I see that you're saving. Come use me whenever you want."

This has in no way panned out. I'll wait in a meeting for hours until all the men adjourn. Even though I am now responsible enough to put a few pennies in my savings account every week, I'm still wiggling in my chair half the time.

• Acknowledging and dealing with imperfections. This should = No More Imperfections.

I step on the scale. The number has gone up...significantly since before Thanksgiving. 

The digital readout on the scale manages to look like a sad face with a little tear dripping down its cheek.

I tell myself that real women have curves, feel happy, then get off and eat the bowl of Christmas candy.

Yup, all of it.

This should make me weigh 125 lbs and somehow make my boobs really perky. Automatically:

Acknowledging that I feel like this...

...should make me look like this. Yup.

Whatever. I guess I'll go to work now. 

I'll even brush my teeth and let people merge in traffic. I'm pretty sure this will result in a pony and tickets to the circus.