The contrast to the fact that I feel justified acting younger when I'm back in HomeTown is that I feel compelled to act my age when I am back in the city.
The city is the place where I only hit the snooze button one time.
Where I file my own taxes.
Where I use a clipboard regularly.
Where I eat steamed vegetables by choice.
Where I own too many pairs of plain black socks.
Where I spend my Saturday afternoons buying garbage bags and Swiffer refills.
Where I send important emails on the train to work.
Where I make sure I wear sensible earrings (in certain contexts, at least).
Every once in a while, though, I get a flash of something that makes me feel like a child again.
Today, I was taking my bedding out of the dryer, I noticed that one of my pillow cases had gone missing. I stuck my head into my comforter cover, and saw that the pillow case had become wedged at the bottom, so I crawled in a little further to retrieve it. All the sudden, with the way the light was filtering through the blanket, I felt as though I was hiding out in a blanket fort.
And I smiled.
I realize, now, even though I've done a remarkable job at this whole "adult" thing, there are some things that all the practical pants and day planners in the world can't suppress.
Like the smell of crayons.
Having breakfast for supper.
Giving myself a bubble bath beard.
Jumping onto every chalked game of hopscotch I come across.
Dancing around my apartment to the song on my iPod the second the front door closes behind me.
Eating too much ice cream.
And being tucked into bed so tightly that my arms can barely move.
Blanket forts trump steamed vegetables any day.