I’m a Toys R Us kid.
There’s a million toys at Toys R Us-
That I can play with.
From bikes to planes to video games-
It’s the biggest toy store there is.
I don’t wanna grow up-
‘Cause baby if I did…
I couldn't be a Toys R Us kid…
(more games, more toys, OH BOY!)
I couldn't be a Toys R Us kid.
Okay, people…settle down.
The truth is, there are parts of me that may never grow up. I figure if the grown-up gene hasn’t kicked in by now, I’m probably done.
I’ll give you some examples:
Mom/Dad: “Don’t sit/stand/do cannonballs off of the arm of the couch/chair/kitchen counter. I worked my fingers to the bone to pay for that. When you grow up and have nice furniture of your own, I’m going to come over and do that and see how you like it.”
Dad/Mom: “Don’t run in the house! Someone’s going to get hurt. Do you want to spend the night in the emergency room?”
Mom/Dad: “Don’t go outside without your jacket. It’s freezing outside. Do you want to catch your death of cold?”
You get the idea. Thing is, I still do some of these things…okay, I do all of these things...but I do them in a dignified, adult manner.
Truth be told, I do sit on the arm of the chair/couch. I have even been known to hoist myself up on the kitchen counter when feeling the desire to rest my feet, but also wanting the distinct advantage of being at eye level with my 6’ 2” son during our discussion on the merits of taking out the trash before it overflows to the point where the flip-top on the can fails to close properly, giving Metro unspoken permission to remove any item he deems even remotely edible. I respect my right...as an adult...to sit anywhere I want, dammit. If I can't justify it now....
I’ve been known to sprint through the house at warp speed when the phone’s ringing and I can’t find the remote…screaming like a banshee “Don’t hang up! I’m coming! Where are all the freakin' phones??!!!” Yes, I suppose I could trip, stumble and poke someone's eye out by running in the house. I guess it's a risk I'm willing to take.
I run outside in winter without a jacket all the time. To get the mail, to refill the bird feeder…I figure, “how long can it possibly take?” There’s always that small part of me that worries that I could lock myself out of the house and no amount of knocking would be heard by the boys, whose iPods are blaring…they remain completely oblivious unless they smell food. But the putting on of the coat, the scarf, the gloves, the hat and the boots just seem like an awful lot of trouble for something that should only take...about 30 seconds, tops. Not to mention the fact that if you’re getting into a warm car, you’ll be instantly HOT and have to take it all off again anyway.
I have occasionally been known to throw a folded towel into my overstuffed linen closet and then quickly close the door…before anything could tumble back out again. It’s childish, I know…especially given the fact that I will undoubtedly be the next one to open said door and have the contents topple down on me in a mountain of linens, but I can live with that chance.
I never, ever lick my fingers...unless they’re recently washed and I’m chowing down on the rarest of treasures…a glazed donut…because one simply cannot wipe away the glaze from one’s fingers on a napkin…I believe it’s actually considered a mortal sin in some cultures.
Sometimes, I even squeeze the toothpaste from the middle of the tube, or put a pencil back in the cup even though I know the point is broken off. I’ve even been known to walk right past those sticky dots of maple syrup someone (Taylor) dripped on the kitchen floor…all the while thinking that I’ll catch it the next time I’m in there.
After all, it wasn’t me. Somebody else did it....
And I’m telling.