A running theme I have in my life is this: I can’t believe I’m doing/have/or am experiencing X, because hot damn, look at how adult X is. [Mind you, only one X.] I’m critically aware of each encroachment of the adult human experience, and in general, really do favor it a great deal.
I told J not too long ago, when he asked me why I felt the need to be growing up and gaining responsibilities in my life, that I’ve felt I’ve had the mental capacity and status of an adult much longer than I’ve been able to enjoy the frivolity and privileges that comes from the falling pages of a calender.
Today’s catalyst: dry-cleaning. I just pulled out a ticket from my wallet that lets me know that I have one dress, one blouse, two slacks, and one skirt waiting for me at a dry cleaners in town on Friday at five. It’s like in the movies! …Except I putter up on my scooter instead of a Caddie.
Perhaps this is how it’s done in Italian movies.