Adulting consists of paying bills on time, doing the laundry on a Friday night, drinking skinny lattes after work, and telling social media that you just killed it in your Yoga class when in reality you sat on your couch, drank a protein shake in your yoga pants, and winced as you watched Zen girls contort themselves into positions you could only get yourself into while shaving your legs.
Old flings? They had nothing to do with adulting.
That’s what I told myself anyway as I walked to the end of the line at the tax office and landed right behind the most dangerous old fling of them all.
He looked good. I mean really good. Better than before. And I would have never thought that had been possible.
The difference? This old fling wasn’t a boy anymore. He was a man. A man with facial hair and work boots. A man with callused hands and a deep voice. A man with shoulders and property taxes.
But when he flashed his smile at me, all I could see was that boy. The one with the wild hair. The one with the reputation. The one with that life-changing, standards-raising, panty-dropping kiss.
And I was that girl. The one with the contagious laugh. The one with no experience. The one who drowned in that life-changing, standards-raising, panty-dropping kiss.
I needed to get out of this line, go to Office Max, and buy myself a Lisa Frank binder so I could practice writing my name with his.
I was being ridiculous. I was an adult, not a nineteen-year-old, boy-crazy girl. I had my skinny latte to prove it.
I took a sip from the sugar-free, fat-free, caffeine-free, happiness-free coffee and tried to pay attention the words coming out of his pretty lips.
Crap, he’d asked me a question. What was it? I wondered if, “Sure, I’ll make out with you,” was an appropriate response.
He laughed at my zoning-out and repeated the question.
Ah. How was everyone doing from back then? My favorite topic.
See, the people he was referring to were actually adulting. They had careers, wedding plans, babies, husbands.
Me? I had a dog and a roommate.
He shook his head and muttered something about not being ready for all that. I lied and said I totally agreed. Who wanted comfort, stability, and unconditional love anyways? Along with old flings, lies had nothing to do with adulting.
But when he asked me to grab a drink, I decided I’d start adulting tomorrow.