You Know You're Not a Kid Anymore When...

So I've been receiving some forcible reminders that I'm not a kid anymore. I mean, duh, age is an indicator. And I'm not even that old. A mere 20. (Granted, that's a fifth of a century... which makes me sound older...). But there are other things that remind me how far I've left childhood behind:

I'm a cleanliness nut -- Okay, so this can only be a good thing. After all, who likes living with a slob? But when you plan a movie night to chill with the girls and suddenly you walk in the kitchen and go "Oh no, I can't function like this!" and start cleaning, there starts to be a problem. When your other roommate comes home an hour and a half later and says, "Hey, I thought you were going to watch a movie..." and your roommates reply, "Well, we were, but Lynnae's on one of her cleaning rampages again," in that world-weary "this happens all. the. time" tone, you know you've got a problem. Oh, and when you spend three hours scrubbing the floor to get all the grime off and you're happy about it; or when your roommate is thoughtful enough to do the floors for you, since you always do them, and you're disappointed because you didn't get to do the floors yourself, you're definitely dysfunctional. Or just old. Which was my point to begin with. 

I dream of having my own house -- no seriously. I dream about it. Literally.

I'm drawn to aisles in the store that I just shouldn't be drawn to -- okay. Remember how, when you were a kid, you'd tug on Mom's sleeve and beg her to take you down the toy aisle so that you could stare longingly at all the toys? I remember loving when we went to Toys R Us. It was like a fantasy playland. As I got a little older, my favorite store morphed into Borders and I always detoured down the book aisles in any given store. My favorite store now? Bed Bath & Beyond. I don't go in there often, but I love it when I do. And just the other day, when my roommate and I were shopping, we were looking for some supplies for our kitchen and I stopped by the dishware aisle, glanced at her shyly and said, "Can we just... I really want to go down this aisle." So we did. And spent like, ten minutes of our somewhat tightly-pressed time just looking at dishes and silverware. Then we looked at each other and were like, "Oh. My. Gosh. What are we doing?" Dishes?!?! Really?! You'd have thought we were two kids in the candy aisle, caught with our hands in the bin.

My mother would be proud.