Jennie Smash

Up until recently, I really thought I’d grow up someday.

Someday, I thought, babies will seem like a really good idea, and I’ll want to date someone for longer than it takes a dairy product to expire, and I’ll want to buy a house, and I’ll want to keep better track of my finances. I’m 28 years old, and I’m just not there yet.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, because my sister is visiting. My sister is four years younger than I am, but she’s married. This means that despite what it says on her driver’s license, she’s more mature than I am by a decade.

She has glasses that match her plates. She manages the family finances, without bouncing checks or fudging anything when her statements arrive, to make her check register match up. She has a big honkin’ ring, and a brand new last name, and she likes babies. She has friends who have babies, married people like her, and as far as I know, not one of them has ever thought, “Maybe I’ll just leave this little fucker on the train.” Which is probably what I would think, were I compelled to carry a teeny little person around all day.

I, on the other hand, have no savings account. I can barely manage to keep my laundry caught up, never mind run a household. And just this morning, I lost my car keys and I have no idea where they are.

I think maybe I’m going to have to settle for being a fantastically eccentric aunt.