LINDSAY WOODS: Is this what it means to be a grown-up?
There comes a point in your adult life when you think: ‘Yes, this is it! This is what it surely means to be a grown-up?’ I have yet to reach that point. I am now afraid that I may never reach it and will be doomed to spend eternity in a wannabe adult limbo of sorts: not being allowed the freedom associated with youth yet still expected to pay the mortgage.
It is not so much failing at ‘adulting’, a term which I abhor as much as the task of disembowelling the car of all its bounteous treasure, trash and general crud, as it is assuming the guise of an imposter adult. In summary, I am pretty much lying my way through my mid-thirties.
