Why can't I drink wine until I'm hammered on a Monday night?
Why can't I just buy books instead of borrowing from the library?
Why can't I spend the entire day in my underwear eating cupcakes and watching Jersey Shore?
Why won't he buy me a Vespa?
I know. I'm writing another post about how much being a grown up in a grown up relationship sucks.
I probably shouldn't complain too much. I am lucky to be with someone who lets me off the hook with long stretches (oh, only a year or so) of leisure time in between very part-time jobs that lead to nothing and stress me out like I have a real job, or something.
But when did I become this grown up? When did everything become so wrapped up in panic and responsibility?
If I want to buy $25 candles and $10 cardboard boxes I will! Dammit! This is freedom to me!
At this point I feel like I should rise, stare off into the sky with a noble expression, chin jutting out and what not, and proclaim all young, immature, frivolous mommies the world over free from all feelings of guilt and shame. With a flag waving away in the background.
This is unrealistic. I'm not getting a Vespa tomorrow. Or moving somewhere that resonates within my soul. This is where I am and I have to make the best of it.
I need a new hobby.
Enter: doll making.
Now hear me out!
Glass eyes. Wigs. Clay. Little miniature shoes and outfits and wigs worked into messy braids and sad pathetic little doll faces and oh my god! This could very well be the perfect time-waster that will pacify me and make me shut up and stop giving my poor husband an ulcer. And a headache. And a potential dependancy issue. That last part was a joke. Maybe.