No shit, this morning, I made my bed. No one asked me to, no one prompted me. I didn’t even want to make my bed, I just did, because it’s become habit. You see, I’ve made my bed every morning for the last couple of weeks. EVERY MORNING. That includes Saturdays, and you’re not even supposed to get up before NOON on a Saturday. But I do that, now, too.

Adulthood Goes Deeper

Not only do I make my bed, usually because my room doesn’t look good if it’s not made, but I also make sure to put all of my dirty clothes into a basket! Not a pile on the floor, no, that’s not good enough for me anymore, I put them into a freaking basket!  You know what, I get a little dismayed if I have no basket to put them in, like, LAUNDRY HAS A HOME!

Once upon a time, my clean clothes lived in a basket and the dirty clothes lived in a giant pile. Once upon a time, it took several wearings of a piece of clothing to define it as dirty…

Okay, maybe I still do that with pants… BUT NOT SHIRTS!

Almost a year ago, I wrote about the 3 Futile Tasks that Real Adults Do. Number one on the list was making the bed.

I was adamant that I would have to fight myself to ever be able to make the bed every day.

Now, I don’t even think about doing it.

Your adulthood disease has begun to infect me, and it makes me sick.

I have to find a cure soon, or the next thing you know, I’ll be vacuuming.

Drastic measures must be taken… time to watch some cartoons and eat cereal with marsh mellows in it, then drink a cup of coff…..

 

It’s the coffee.

 

You’ve been infecting me through the coffee!

 

And here I thought I was putting enough chocolate into it…

 

Damn…

 

I  already want another cup.

 

It’s hopeless!