If it were socially acceptable for me to act like a four year-old, here would be some highlights of my day. Picture me or any adult doing this. It’s completely absurd. Depending on your level of patience, you’d either beat the snot out of me, or have me committed.
- Wake up at 6:00 am, barge into the room of the people who own the house I’m living in rent-free, and demand that they get up and make me oatmeal. The strawberry kind. (Only on weekends.)
- Stay in bed until someone comes in to wake me up because it’s 7:40 am, and we have to leave at 8:00. Refuse to get up because I’m warm. Tell the person to go away. Only consider getting up if someone first snuggles with me. Refuse to wear clothes that someone has personally picked out for me. Insist on wearing the long-sleeved teal tee-shirt that I like, even though there is a hole in it. Throw a fit if I’m told that my favorite argyle socks are in the wash. (Only on weekdays.)
- Get to the office, hear the song Bulletproof by La Roux. I haven’t heard this forever. Sing it as loud as I can.
- Attend a meeting. Hear something more interesting going on somewhere else. Abruptly leave and RUN to wherever this is.
- Skip back to meeting. Take off my shoes. Fixate on a freckle on my foot. Ask anyone what would happen if I ripped my freckle off. Do morning ululations.
- Hear someone answer the phone. Loudly demand to talk to whomever is on the line.
- Tag along with someone going to Target over my lunch break. Find a section of the store with lots of stuff that I might like to explore, maybe the cosmetics aisles. Spend 15 minutes trying on lipstick, taking out every bottle of nail polish, opening every powder sample. Once I lock into something I really want, like a really sparkly eye shadow palette, refuse to leave the aisle until someone agrees to buy it for me. Climb on the bottom of the cart and ride underneath the rest of the way. Stop to look at movies at the check-out. Hide when I notice that people can’t find me.
- Go back to the office, let everyone know that for lunch I want a nice salad with some cut up chicken breast on top, and could someone get on that right away? French dressing, but only if it’s not the generic kind, otherwise Italian, but not if too garlicky. With a diet Coke. With ice in it. In a pink cup. With a straw. And get the hell out of my spot. I’m sitting there.
- Sit at my desk. Fart. Announce loudly, “I farted. Did you hear that?”
- Afternoon ululations.
- Come home, stay outside, take all the rakes out of the garage, find a spade, dig a hole in the yard where it’s muddy for no particular reason. Hit my brother, Chad, with a rake when he tries to help me with the hole.
- Announce I’m taking the dog for a walk. I can’t get her leash on, but refuse to let anyone help me with it.
- Spread all the blankets from my room on the living room floor. Bring my pillows, my laptop, my new iPhone, my book, my new lamp, and a bowl of pretzels over. Flip out if anyone disturbs my stuff. Use everything for about ten minutes, get bored, leave everything there for someone else to pick up.
- Turn on my favorite show, The Big Bang Theory, on the DVR. Watch the same episode four times in a row. Get mad if anyone suggests we watch something else. Ask for every product advertised on every commercial for my birthday.
- Refuse to go to bed until everyone is completely sick of seeing me, and I’m physically escorted to my room. Demand that someone help me in the bathroom, and pull up my pants because “I ALWAYS have to do it.”
- Make someone sleep with me because I’m scared. Toss and turn, kick the dog, decide I’m hungry. Fart and say, “Smell!” Yell “Now now now now now now now now now now now,” demanding something to eat. Finally pass out. Look cute curled up with my blanket and my thumb in my mouth.
© Jennifer Alys Windholz, 2012