No one told me that there was no definitive point at which one becomes an adult. It took me awhile to figure out that there was just a series of milestones, and usually they take you by surprise. Here is one of five such milestones that Cracked points out:
The First Time You Aren’t Ashamed of Your Groceries
Like every college student, I survived on a steady diet of frozen pizza, light beer, and surely some third thing (there has to have been a third thing). Which is fine, because 20-year-old me was like some weird combination of Pac-Man and the guy from Shel Silverstein’s The Missing Piece, in that I put weird stuff in my mouth all day and never suffered any consequences. But I also felt like my shopping habits were … wrong, somehow.
To be clear, my groceries never bothered me at home, because I could just close the door to my cupboards and, like magic, look like a real person who knew how to feed himself. The only time my groceries were actually shameful was in the checkout counter, when I piled my boxes and cans onto the Conveyor Belt of Truth and stood in judgment of Cashier Lady Doris. Back home, I could hide my shame, but Doris saw me for what I really was: a soft, smelly sack of pizza, beer, and whatever that third thing was (vegetables, maybe? That doesn’t sound right) who, through the dark magic of youth, hadn’t collapsed and died from malnutrition in the past week.
Until one day (and it wasn’t even that long ago) I loaded my purchases onto the conveyor belt and saw … well, beer, yes, but also tomato paste, and raw meat, and vegetables that weren’t even in a package. That’s the difference between the stuff I used to buy and actual groceries. My purchases were no longer a collection of individual meals, but items that could be assembled into a meal, at a later date, by me. And that’s the essence of maturity: sacrificing convenience and instant gratification (a quick, frozen meal that will make you feel shitty later) for long-term satisfaction (something you have to put effort into cooking but tastes good and won’t launch an insurgency against the oppressive regime of your digestive tract).
For the first time, I could stand in front of the cashier’s judging eyes, smile widely, look Doris in the eye, and say- Easy Cheese! That’s what the third thing was. You put it on Ritz crackers, and, man, that s**t’s divine.
Full article on Cracked.
More weird aspects of life.