Hey, everybody! Great to be here. Let's talk about the most important relationship in my life—coffee. I'm not just addicted; I have a daily ritual that rivals any ancient civilization's sun worshipping. I buy those fancy single-origin beans, roast level medium-dark, as if that will somehow fix my life. I line them up on the counter like a tiny army that's going to rescue me from the sheer terror of waking up. And then I spill it on my shirt within five seconds. I've turned "coffee stain" into a fashion statement—my own attempt at abstract art.
Speaking of personal disaster, let's talk about dating apps. You spend thirty minutes swiping, hoping someone will say something interesting. Instead you get: "Hey." And "What's up?" I've matched with people who tell me "I'm really just here to see what happens." That's like going to the grocery store and saying, "I'm really just here to get lost." We all know where this is going: you wind up in a conversation about their dog, and suddenly his dog's personality is more interesting than the human in the room.
Working from home has become a national sport, right? I've perfected the art of appearing busy on Zoom. Nodding, furrowing my brow. But the moment the camera's off, I'm Googling "Is watching cat videos a productive work break?" My partner walks behind me in pajamas with cereal in her hair, and I freeze mid-sip, terrified that she'll stroll into the frame like some uninvited cameo in an Ikea commercial.
Grocery shopping is its own form of trauma. You roll a cart—one wheel always refuses to cooperate—and you end up zigzagging down the aisle like you're training for a slalom race. Then you get to self-checkout, and the machine says, "Unexpected item in the bagging area." I look at the lettuce I just scanned. I whisper, "Lettuce? Are you hiding a barcode somewhere?" I weigh it again. I stare at the scale like it owes me an apology. By the time I'm done, the cashier has already broken down the line and started a book club.
Adulting means paying bills you didn't even notice until they're due. Last month I paid three subscriptions I never signed up for—two for meditation apps that I'll never open because I don't want to learn to breathe properly, and one for a sock-of-the-month club. I ask myself, "Do I really need a new sock every month?" Apparently, my feet do.
You know what the scariest adulting milestone is? Filing taxes. I found a form my accountant sent that reads like hieroglyphics. I'm staring at one page saying: "Report all virtual currency transactions." I haven't transacted any. I once Googled Bitcoin, got scared, and closed the browser. But now I'm supposed to report it? So I just scribbled, "None of your business," and mailed it in.
Anyway, I've gotta run before my coffee wears off. Thanks for listening to my caffeine-fueled life story—enjoy the rest of your night!
