Perpetual Adolescent: I Want to Be a Toys R Us Kid

I was reading an article today about Cecil Castelluci. She's a writer who's broken new ground by stepping outside her genre to write and draw a graphic novel. The article said, "Cecil Castellucci acts more like a 15-year-old boy than a 37-year-old woman. And she makes no apologies."

'I love Ford Mustangs, my Fender guitar, Vertigo comics and my Apple computer,' says Castellucci in a rather appropriate girlish voice.

OK, the last time I checked, I have a 2006 Ford Mustang in my driveway, a Squier (Japanese Fender in my bedroom), enjoy cartoons and comics, and love my Mac mini my beloved man squeeze bought me.

Does that make me a 15-year-old boy instead of a 31-year-old woman? Last time I checked, the double-Ds were a dead giveaway to my feminine ways and wiles. And, last time I checked, monthly visits from Aunt Flow were clearly indicative of the ovary-inducing inconvenience we ladies like to call our period. End of sentence.

Once again, some idiot journalist feels the need to peg passions to a specific age group. However, I started to think about other things and wondered if I'd ever grow up. Or would I be stuck in Aisle 16 talking to Geoffrey from a foam Dora the Explorer couch.

Over the years, I've seen friends get married and have children. Over the years, my boyfriend and I have moved cross-country three times in pursuit of better career options. As I get older, I've begun to equate marriage and children with maturity.

I hate to say this, but some friends who have married immediately shed their passions for an amorphous blob of coupledom. As my boyfriend can attest, we are two big kids---who love cartoons and have no pangs of guilt when we purchase Fruity Pebbles with our Vitamin C and organic milk. We have no qualms about seeing a Saturday matinee where the main attraction is the latest Pixar picture.

Yet, on the flip side of the coin, both of us pursued our educations and now work full-time jobs. We do laundry, cook, clean, and pay bills and taxes.

I'm not sure why people feel an excuse is necessary when a "mature" person does "immature" things. What is the difference between being immature and mature? Where does the boundary for adolescence end and adulthood begin? I would never want to go back to high school; I love my thirties. But, I don't want to give up things I've always enjoyed because the number of candles on the cake far exceeds the "Recommended for Ages..." warning.

Nope, I'm going to have my cake and eat it, too.