Why I Am Undoubtedly Still a Child

So last week, I told you all about how I know I'm an adult now.

But that's gross. I'm not REALLY an adult. And here's how I know:

I still say "that's what she said." All the time. And I see zero reason to stop ever. And I'm not sorry about it.

I really, really enjoy glitter fingernail polish. And bright blue fingernail polish. The same colors that I liked when I was eight. I don't know what I'd do if I ever had to work in a "professional office environment." It would be the worst.

I still eat the batter when I'm baking. I always try to sneak it, even if I'm home alone. Salmonella? Come at me, bro.

I still call people to kill my spiders for me. Sometime, ask Kyle about how I had him DRIVE to my apartment because I trapped a ginormous spider in my kitchen and was too afraid to squash it myself. Really, it's a good story.

This picture of a case of PBR in a carseat pretty much speaks for itself, right? 

I still eat like a little kid. No lie, one day when I was buying groceries, the cashier asked me if I had kids. I was confused until I looked down at my cart and saw box mac&cheese, Chef Boyardee, frozen pizzas, the whole nine yards. Embarrassing. (BONUS: I still drink a lot of milk, too.)

So really, I guess I can go to sleep tonight knowing that despite my ~maturity~ and all that crap, I'm still just a little kid at heart. I like that better. Don't you?