Classical Sass

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I am a well adjusted adult. I go through life in clothes that have not attracted insects, have mastered enough social behaviors so that I am not routinely escorted from events by paid folks who are blatantly baffled by my belligerent attendance, and I frequently manage to not scream my tangible ennui all over strangers even when I am not under social constraints and will probably not be immediately fired from all gainful employment forever. I definitely didn’t spend several hours, immediately after burying my cat, functionally useless because of the pervasive notion that whatever the vet used to kill my cat would wear off and then because still kidney failure, she’d be too weak to dig herself out of the grave in our backyard and so she’d just die of further starvation and slow suffocation.

I’m well adjusted, see.

My vast and mighty coping abilities were evident today, prepping for a much anticipated visit from a beloved writer-buddy. You could see the years of adulting in my 27 minutes of scrubbing this corner behind a dresser that no one will ever see, while the very visible inside of my fridge got zero attention. The social finesse oozed off of my insistence that we walk near the water because reasons and my graceful rawk-choking when she mentioned that she might sleep in till 8:30am. I very sensibly waited till an hour before her arrival to go to the grocery store and then bought 12 cans of every type of beans because maybe she won’t run screaming when I make seven cookie pies (out of beans whatever shut up) and forgot all the cold cuts and had to go back last minute style and then still didn’t have five of the necessary ingredients for the dish I’d decided, at 10am that morning, to make for dinner that night.

It’s definitely not 1am and I’m not over here with seltzer water and potato chips, screaming about my organizational skills.

Because well-adjusted. See.

(We’re going to see a concert tomorrow and I fully expect everything to be smooth and mature. I totally did the laundry maybe. And there’s definitely probably gas in my car and also I for sure kind of have the tickets in a safe, known, place. Yup.)


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