Now, normally I don’t believe in the verbification of words (even writing that was painful); but having said that, I have to admit: I am now adulting at an unprecedented level.
I sometimes walk around my house, though, late at night – putzing, we call it in the Great White North – shaking the cat dish into an appearance of being full, randomly dusting small glass birdies, picking up something from one room and taking it to another – and I wonder: When did all this happen?
To be honest, I had forgotten how much work it is to run a life. I’d been married, you know, for a good dozen years. Over that time, chores peeled off, to me, to him, and pretty much stayed the purview of whoever gravitated toward them. To that end, it is safe to say that I had not taken out the garbage, filled my own gas tank, or brought my own laundry up from the basement in that same amount of time.
And now? I've been forced to - ugh - grow. I mean, I must be seven feet tall by now.
Would you believe me when I tell you that I am the proud owner of a lawn mower, a weed whipper, and a snowblower.
What's next? Lawn furniture? Card tables? RUBBER BOOTS?
I tell ya; anything could happen.