Hilarious yet oddly insightful post into being a grown up kid 🙂

Setting The Barre

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I am a solo-dweller.

A candle-hoarding, Netflix-binging, topless-laundry-folding, plants-are-my-pets, master-of-the-house party of uno.

On the evening of my 23rd birthday, after returning from work around 9 pm and washing several layers of other people’s sweat off my body in my chokey-sized shower stall, I sit on the couch eating baby carrots straight out of the bag.  It is fantastic.

I make needlepoint samplers for my newlywed friends, and attend nuptials -stag- in a lacy frock and ballet flats.  Like a bona fide lady.

I gravitate towards the children on the dance floor, identical twin flower girls and a hesitant ring bearer who transforms to Michael Jackson’s greatest hits.  I don’t notice how much time I’ve spent teaching a wide-eyed 4-year-old to swing dance until the end of the night, when an unknown relative (Aunt Amelia?)  thanks me for being “so generous with the kids out there!”.  Apparently, these are…

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