When I was young, I was an ill-mannered and awkward child, far more comfortable in the company of books than of other people. Knowing that I could not reasonably expect to get through life without being able to interact with other humans, my parents decided to enroll me in a local chapter of junior cotillion when I was thirteen.
There are many things that I did not know how to do when I was a kid, but that I assumed I would automatically be able to do once I grew up. They are little things, like folding laundry neatly and liking vegetables and reading books that are not from the middle grade section of the library.
I have since learned that this is not always the case. Age does not mean that you suddenly can do all the “grown-up things.”
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The last English class I ever took was supposed to be fun. It was Victorian literature, and it was the final core English credit I needed to graduate. Victorian literature is an area I like a lot, so I expected it to be an easy last hurrah to the English major before I had to go out into the real world and be an adult.
At work, there is a table where people often leave bags of treats, plates of cookies, and other edibles that they want to share with everyone. Today, I was pleasantly surprised when I walked past it on my way to the water cooler and noticed a bag printed with a picture of chocolate-covered pretzels.
Chocolate-covered pretzels, as it so happens, are one of my favorite things in the world.
When I was in college, I committed a crime and almost got away with it. And nobody, up until now, ever found out. But since it’s a new (ish) year with new beginnings, I figure it’s time to come clean.