Kelly’s Korner: Reasons why I’m not as much of an adult as I think I am
There comes a time in one’s life when the foundation on which we have so sturdily built ourselves comes crashing down. As a college student, this time usually occurs when we realize we aren’t as adult as we’d like to believe we are.
We spend a majority of our teenage lives telling our parents and others that we are adults and we deserve to be treated like adults. However, when we actually reach the age when we are expected to take care of everything, life gets a little more confusing.
Sure, most students pay their bills, gas and car notes, but there are many other small things that become solid proof that we are infants, children, babies on iPhones — or at least, for me, there are.
Adults know the significance of hot/cold, warm/cold and cold/cold settings on the washing machine. I don’t understand what these water temperature settings affect. What do these elusive buttons mean? While I have been washing my own clothes for a long time, I feel that there is a certain art to washing clothes correctly, and I am not well-versed in this art. I know there are certain delicate items that you should wash in cold, but why? If I don’t wash this item in the cold water it desires, the worst that can happen is that it’ll transform into a mutant cardigan or something.
Adults have the patience and knowledge to separate colors. Parents always tell their children to make sure to separate their clothes by colors to wash; meanwhile, I throw white, dark, colorful and delicate clothes into one load. I am aware that silly romantic comedies often have that comedic bit of leaving one red sock in the plethora of white clothes people seem to own, thus turning everything pink, but that never happens. As for the mysterious loner red sock, I don’t personally know anybody who owns red socks — except maybe the entirety of Coog Crew.
Adults make their bed every morning. The idea of making a bed that I will exhaustedly fall into 12 hours later seems archaic to me. I understand it looks clean and proper, but no one will be looking in your bedroom when you are not there. The one thing that may be present in the room when you are not is an animal, if you have one. Believe me when I say that your fat cat, Mr. Fluffy, is not going to judge your unmade bed.
Adults have professional email addresses. Adults always have the most official of email names; typically, it is their first and last name followed by a generic search engine. I may, or may not, have the same email address I’ve had since I was 15 years old. It takes a lot of effort to make sure all of the contacts and important emails are switched over to a different address. When people speak of “the struggle,” I believe they are speaking of the struggle to change the destination of bank statements, promotional items and school updates to a more professional email. I’d rather just stick to the childhood nickname followed by random numbers.
Adults show concern when someone is injured. When a person trips and falls onto their face, an adult’s first reaction is concern, followed by inquiring if they are hurt. My first instinct is to laugh for 10 minutes and then find out if anyone caught the tumble on video. I am entertained by videos compiled of nothing but five-second snippets of someone getting hit in the face or painful place, falling off of something or slipping on an unseen obstacle. Seriously, these are funnier than videos of animals wearing clothes.
Adults enjoy watching sophisticated movies. I enjoy watching ridiculous movies. The extremely ridiculous quotes that spawn from movie magic — such as “Your mom goes to college” and “The last time I heard that, I laughed so hard I fell off my dinosaur” — make my life. “Napoleon Dynamite,” “Anchorman,” “Nacho Libre,” “Stepbrothers,” “Superbad” — pretty much anything with Will Ferrell — make me feel immature, but I love it. I don’t trust the people who say that stupid movies are not their guilty pleasure. I legitimately fear the day when I no longer find these movies side-splittingly hilarious, because that would mean that I am a grown-up.
Moments such as these make me realize that I am not as much of an adult as I’d like to think I am. Although when it comes down to it, I’d prefer to keep these adolescent enjoyments and curiosities a little while longer.
Senior staff columist Kelly Schafler is a print journalism junior and may be reached at [email protected]