This is why I don’t “adult.”
Today I attempted to be a grown up after work, cook dinner, meal prep, do laundry, all that good stuff.
The laundry facility in my complex uses a chip card instead of coins. I usually forget it upstairs and have to run back up. Which is the case in today’s episode of daily misadventures. So I go all the way upstairs to learn either my guy has the laundry card with him or its loss in the mountain of books all over my house (I use everything as a bookmark). So I come back downstairs pissed off I can’t find it. One of my neighbors is putting his clothes in the dryer and sees me taking mine out. And asks if I want to use his card. So I insist I’ll be fine and he insists he will be back and I can give him the money. I finally concede. And say thank you very much. He sashays away letting me know he’ll be back to get his clothes and I can pay him then.

I set my washers and figure screw it, I’ll run to the bank quickly to pull out cash. It’s 7pm, no one will be there to see me dressed in my snowflake PJs right?

WRONG. This is Clark. Apparently people are too good to deal with bank tellers, and go after hours to stand with their Prada bags at the ATM in droves. It’s the place to be. So I decide to wait it out in the car so no one sees me in my toddler gear.

Welp, the people just keep coming car after car. So I figure screw it. I’ll drive down the street to the other branch, they’re always empty. So I get there and it’s empty. I sigh in relief as I run into the ATM, quick as a night burglar. I input my card and PIN #. As I’m standing there waiting for the ancient machine to “dial up” what seemed like the entire bank staff exit the building as one cohesive unit. Did I mention I had on fuzzy slipper socks to go with my snowflakes…. Yeaaaahhhh……

So instead of hiding in shame, I stand up a little straighter, hold my head high, make eye contact, and smile confidently. After all, I still have the flower in my hair from work. I’m chic goddamn it!! Even if I can pass for a 5 year old on Christmas morning.

They leave, the ATM finally spits out my cash and I leave. Only slightly mortified. Then as I’m driving back I realize I can’t hand this man a $20 AND I still need a new laundry card which my complex only allows to be purchased with a $5 bill. So I wait in an extra long Panera line for my $2.08 iced green tea (drive through thank you! I’ve had enough flaunting of my swank evening wear)

After a well deserved sip of this overly sugary beverage I now sit in the laundry room with my neighbors $5, a new laundry card, and the only available dryer churning my wet clothes and apparently beat boxing on volume 100 the soundtrack to this splendid spring evening. Oh, also, my slipper sock is wet because the washer flooded the floor.

 End scene.