I Need An Adult!

I’ve decided that the older people in our house can no longer refer to ourselves as “Adults” or “Grown-ups”. Because we’re just not.

Witness the texting conversation between me and my husband this past week:

Me:  Do you want me to take that movie back that you didn’t get to watch?

(It was some foreign film. We also got Hot Rod.  Worth every penny of that 50 cents we spent).

EG:  Keep it.  We’ve already paid the late fee anyway.  Look for the ones we talked about too.  I can’t remember one of the names.

Me:  Ok.  Drillbot Taylor

EG:  I think it was DrillbIT. Love You.

Me:  Ha.  Oops.  Love u2.  Will look for Drillbut Taylor.

EG:  Hehehe… you said butt.  Get Trollbut Tailor.

Me:  I was thinking Drillbat Taylor.  It’s the Halloween Edition.

EG:  How about Vulcan?  Drl’bt T’Lor

Me:  Bwa ha ha!  That’s all I got.

After all that, they didn’t even have the movie.  People didn’t return the copies.  It’s the same with “The Big Lebowski”.  We’ve never seen it, but have been told we have to.  And by the way, all of this texting was all done without me driving.  I actually text in the parking lot.  Go me!

Years ago, my sister in law (who has many children) was talking to my husband and marveled that she had always wondered how people without children entertain themselves, and after listening to the two of us she now knew.  HA HA-we have children now but how we entertain ourselves has not changed much.  We still can entertain each other pretty well.  We just sleep less.

This picture simply supports my hypothesis: We cannot be categorized as adults. By the way, this is my studly yet wounded husband drinking “Skinny Girl” Margarita Mix.

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