Unwashed dishes in a sink; an authentic situation. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I suck at being a grownup.  I came to this realization yesterday as I looked around my apartment at all the chores I had to do:  wash the dishes, do the laundry, clean the bathroom, take out the trash, pay the bills, go grocery shopping, etc.  My mother would have already done most of these things and then would have done the rest without even thinking about it.  Me, I looked at funny pictures of cats for an hour and went to bed.

When I came home from work today, the dishes were still in the sink.  I don’t even remember using some of these dishes.  I don’t know how they got dirty.  I’m pretty sure some of them aren’t even mine.  It’s like the dishes come out and party while I’m at work, apparently getting into food fights with my glassware and cutlery, then collapse into the sink five minutes before I get home.  So I had to wash the dishes.  Or just eat off paper napkins for the rest of my life and never use my sink again, and don’t think I didn’t seriously consider that option.

And the laundry was still dirty.  This is when I fully understood that I will never be as good at adulthood as my mom.  Each item of clothing in my closet has different instructions for how to wash it, except for all my favorite clothes, which all read “Dry Clean Only.”  Everything else, though, has some unique combination of requirements such as “wash in room temperature water only with fabrics of like texture and color on alternate Tuesdays while playing the viola.”  My mom would learn how to play the viola.  I just throw everything into the same load, spin a few dials, and push the “wash” button.  Which explains a lot about the state of my wardrobe.

I did not take out the trash.  I don’t take out the trash until I can’t push it down any farther and the lid won’t close.  I also don’t clean out the refrigerator until there’s no room left and I don’t mop the floor until I’ve forgotten what color it is under the dirt.  I’m not going to tell you about the inside of my microwave, because I like you, and because it’s embarrassing. If there were some sort of practical exam we all had to pass before we were allowed into adulthood, not only would I fail, I would find a way to get negative points.  Of course, I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in that.  Maybe if they graded on a curve?

I’ll take out the trash tomorrow.  For now, I’m going to have a glass of wine.  Which I can do.  Because I’m a grown-up.  Yay!  I finally found a part of adulthood I’m good at.