My awesometastic cousin
Gis, wrote this post a looooooooong ass time ago for me to post but I had the most important job evar. I had to make THREE pictures and it took me at least a year but the pictures are made of gold so you know. I shut my face. Now Gis talks:
One day I was challenged to be mature for 12 whole hours and, needing to prove that being 22 years old meant that I was automatically vastly more mature than anyone on the face of the Earth EVAR, I took the challenge to showcase the might that is my Maturity. (Also, the challenge fed into my ego's need to always attempt to prove people wrong).
That day, I woke up a full FIVE minutes earlier than normal and actually thought to take a breakfast with me (nevermind the fact that said breakfast was a leftover lava cake - who said that?!). I dressed like a classy lady from Mad Men or something - because vintage 1950s and 60s inspired office clothes are, inexplicably, what I instinctively picture when I think of maturity - and got to WORK 3 minutes early.
I was on a roll.
I took my seat at my desk and began my 8 hours of work of....doing...nothing? It was at that point that I had to make a checklist of things mature people do. This is what I had written down:
-wear sensible shoes CHECK!
-NOT have hair in face CHECK!
-NOT make 'That's what she said' jokes CHECK!
-play Scrabble
-talk about stocks and investments
-own a yacht
Evidently, my understanding of conventional maturity was largely skewed by posh stereotypes propogated by the media. Also evident was that only half of my self-imposed checklist was complete. So I started adding more things that I figured I COULD accomplish to the checklist to make myself feel like a successful success machine. (Shut your face - they exist!)
Look:
After much deliberation, I added to the checklist, sure that I would feel the tingling sensation of success:
-NOT play computer games
-NOT go on Facebook
-NOT text while at work
-actually do work
-eat salad for lunch (ZOMG, FIBER!)
Clearly I was in it to win it. I was fairly confident that I could, and would, succeed with this checklist as my maturity compass. And so I whiled away the remaining hours, crossing the aforementioned points off of the checklist, content in the knowledge that I could claim this as a victory. Most of my day was spent like this:
But it felt more like this:
Finally, the workday was done (which meant that 3 hours still remained in the bet); I was, however, finally able to text, which was a huge relief. It was at that point that I was invited out to dinner. Let me just say that the drive to that dinner was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to endure – my boyfriend at the time was in on the bet and he kept making dirty jokes and prodding me to make epic ‘That’s what she said’ jokes…but I held my ground damn well.
I was a vision of sophistication and whatnot for the next few hours – even keeping my swearing down to the bare minimum – and as I sat, watching the clock, counting down the minutes till I could be myself again, I felt an epiphany wash over me like waves on a shore. It was calming. It was rejuvenating. It was….9 o’clock! I had made it to 12 hours and, to celebrate, I made a dirty joke including quite a bit of profanity. Fuck that epiphany before, being immature is a googolplex times better than being boringly mature!
In conclusion, being mature is dumb and if you do it, you’ll get AIDS and die. That is le fact. You’re welcome.
