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Adulting truths

This adulting thing is, in Glennon Doyle’s words, brutiful. I remember when I was little, I just wanted to be an adult, all grown up. I wanted to eat meatloaf and ding dongs all day long, without anyone telling me not to take seconds. I wanted to marry Prince, so he could sing songs about my raspberry beret. I wanted to be able to wear suntan colored pantyhose from those weird plastic eggs, because that was what pretty women wore. I wanted to avoid the hazards of quicksand and tornadoes, while being a famous artist who owned her own sandwich shop.
And then I grew up. Into an an adult. Granted, there are some wins with the whole adulting thing. I can indeed eat ding dongs all day long, with only my jeans scolding me. I have come to terms with the loss of my dear Prince, and am satisfied with my Spotify where he sings directly to me. I wear pantyhose to corporate holiday parties and funerals, and am fairly certain that no self-respecting woman ever wore suntan ones after 1987. I have ma…

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