“It’s not easy being a kid named [blank].”

Well, it’s more difficult to be an adult. The other day I went to a Byerly’s because I had to make a deposit because sometimes you need bank accounts, and the machine wouldn’t accept my check. So I left.

As I angrily got into the car, and told my dad my frustrations, he immediately got out of the car, and informed me that he “wasn’t always going to be there,” and I “had to learn how to do these things on my own.”

Fine.

So, we go inside and talk to the teller. SURRISE. It was Seth! The same bank teller that opened my account for me. I may or may not have brought my cash in an envelope labeled “Fat stackzzzz” with dollar signs and cool cash slogans all over it. Then he made fun of me and we talked about Breaking Bad.

In order to write my deposit amount on the slip of paper, I needed a pen. My dad took it upon himself to grab a writing tool. He was going to hand it to me when Seth exclaimed, “That’s my straw!” Because straws are pens now. Then he followed up with, “let me get you an actual pen that didn’t have my mouth on it.” I actually laughed out loud so hard I lost the ability to write. And I continued to laugh in the car for a solid five minutes after the event. Mainly because Seth is awkward and his driver’s license photo makes him look like a drug lord.

The moral of the story is: I am a one-year-old. I understand that I’m “almost eighteen” (aka less than a month) but I don’t think I’m prepared to be an adult in any way, shape, or form. I’m just not, okay! Geez. I think as I get older on the outside, I actually Benjamin Button on the inside. By that, I mean I was born very mature and responsible, and become increasingly immature as I age. Science, AmIright?

Sarah says you should learn how to be an adult, and then teach her your ways.