Why has it taken me so long to grow up? Well, let's be honest, I'm speaking in a very limited sense, because I hope I never do, entirely.
Here's the thing: When I was young, I had The Cousin From Hell. I still do, as a matter of fact, but he lives in another state, and unclean creatures can't cross running water, so I'm safe.
Oh, I forgot, this is a post about how mature I am.
This cousin of mine is not actually a Spawn of Satan, he was just one of those jolly, hearty, manly boys like Tom Sawyer, always up to some mischief, the kind who are funny in literature but pure torment to a quiet, shy, introverted weakling like Yours Truly.
Yeah, I got over that.
ANYWAY, I used to go to this cousin's house before and after school because my single mother had a job. I dreaded the days we had Cheerios, because Cousin would take a soggy O out of his bowl, put it on top of whatever jar or bottle was on the table, and finger-flick it at me. Nothing in the world was funnier to him than the sight of my face with soggy cereal plastered on it.
I still feel sorry for poor little me because I did NOT enjoy it at the time. On the other hand, if somebody did that to me now, I would fall on the floor, helpless with laughter.
So, have I grown up or down?
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