The weather was glorious in San Francisco yesterday -- warm sunshine coupled with a soft cooling breeze. It was a picture perfect afternoon, so naturally I found myself in the grocery store. It's just how my weekends work out.
Anyway, so I was rooting through the green beans, looking for the prize gems amidst the flaccid pretenders, when I overheard two women having a discussion about whose shopping cart was whose. One woman made a protracted speech detailing both her path through the produce section and the history of her cart throughout the ages, and soon thereafter the dispute was resolved. I finished up my selection of the crispest green beans and turned to the cart victor.
"I think I would have just settled it with an old fashioned game of Rock Paper Scissors." I sagely offered.
She nodded and replied, "Well, we decided to resolve it like grownups."
"But, grownups DO use Rock Paper Scissors to solve disputes," I suggested.
She snorted, as though I had made a joke, and pushed her cart on down the aisle.
Whaaa? Am I not a grownup? I'm in my late 30s and I use Rock Paper Scissors ALL THE TIME. I pondered this briefly and then got distracted by the shiny green apples.
Later, on my way home, I passed by my new neighbor, Fred. He was unloading a case of wine from his trunk.
"Hey Fred! Lots of wine there!" I began, offering this fellow a mere taste of the clever wit he'll be enjoying for years to come as my neighbor.
"Hi Mike. Yeah, I just came back from my bachelor party. We went up to Napa for some wine tasting."
I contemplated this for a moment, contrasting this with every bachelor party I've ever been to. I opened my mouth to tell him about the last bachelor party I went to in Vegas, but Fred continued before I could speak.
"One of my friends suggested that we should go to Vegas. Vegas!! Ha! I asked him, 'Can't we act like grownups?'" Fred state, shaking his head in disbelief.
I vigorously nodded my approval on the outside while my apparently juvenile brain protested loudly on the inside. Strippers and gambling and booze ARE for grownups. Was Fred suggesting that only children could truly enjoy drunken leering? Perhaps I have Daisy enrolled in the wrong type of summer camp.
The point here is that judging by all important metrics, including both dispute resolution and impending marriage celebration styles, I am apparently a maturity midget. Some universal standard of grownupness has been decided upon and communicated to everyone except me. I don't know why I didn't get the memo. Maybe I was busy practicing my fart technique that day.