There are some aspects of maturity that I’m still ironing out. And some aspects of immaturity I prefer to keep wrinkled.
Shakin’ it Like a Polaroid Picture (Dorm Room ’03)
But recently, I found that the possession of just one object makes me feel mature as shit.
Stamps.
Not just any stamps though. Mo fo Forever stamps.
I hear your objections already.
“But Jenny, you occasionally share your bed with a load of clean clothes. And then, you hang things up that are not ironed, forcing you to frequently implement the “As long as I sit down relatively quickly upon arriving to work, people will just think that sitting down made my clothes look wrinkled” strategy. And last weekend, you went to Denny’s twice in eight hours.”
Well, first things first. You never speak of Denny’s like that again. Those Grand Slams were delicious. Now, quiet down and listen to my tale of maturity.
A couple weeks ago, a friend needed me to mail something, so I said, “Sure, no problem at all. Puttin’ it in the mail as we speak!”
Then last week, piecing together his empty mail box and the over-allotted time for the mail to safely travel eight ZIP codes away, he inquired, “Hey, did you have a chance to put those cards in the mail?” To which I responded, “Oh shit! Completely forgot. Puttin’ it in the mail as we speak!”
And in the moments that followed, I completed a task that required the union of a couple very, very mature actions.
Namely, it required the foresight to know that while the price of stamps would continue to rise, my math skills would not rise in the proportion needed to one day piece together some crazy combination of 40 and 2 and 5. Or something.
This foresight led me to not only purchase Forever stamps, but to also place them in the little area in my wallet that some people reserve for dollar bills. And so, faced with a commitment to deliver via U.S.P.S., I calmly and maturely grabbed my wallet and pulled out one little token of eternally sticky goodness.
I smiled in content reflection and placed my proof of temporary adulthood mastery onto the upper right section of the envelope. Then I retrieved the recipient’s address from the 3rd email he had sent with it, and put it right in the mail.
Up next: Washing my car once per year.
*Okay, you waited long enough. Here’s your dessert.