Proof that I have matured….

So, I was at the grocery this morning. I am aware that nearly all of my recent posts have involved the grocery in some form or another, but that’s where I’m at in life.

Anyway, I was unloading bags from my cart and loading cold items into coolers because, yes, I am just that Type A. A young man in an old Bronco sped down the parking lot aisle. He was blaring some godawful screamer “rock” music as loud as those speakers could possibly go. Base turned up high. Windows rolled all the way down.

I was visibly annoyed, of this I have no doubt, and I knew what he’d be wearing before he even got out of the car.

Combat boots.

Ripped Jeans.

No visible eyes due to full-on hair shag.

Wallet chain.

 

I thought to myself, “Ugh. Youths.”

 

Or, alternately,

Then, all of a sudden, it hit me.

Adult me wants to give that young man a haircut and teach him something about good music.

Teenage me would have actively tried to make out with him.

Take that, every high school teacher who said I’d never grow up.

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Comments:

  1. NO! Turn back before it’s too late!
    That’s OK. You’re still a few years away from tearing down the road at a death defying 30 mph, window rolled down just enough for the young peoples of the area to hear you yell, “Pull up your damn pants!”

  2. I always thought I would never mature but guess what I did, it snuck up on me and one day I realised I had grown up and was now a sensible mature woman what the bloody hell

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