On the Dubious Pleasure of Being an Adult

Last Friday I got a raise, and I swear, the first thought that went through my mind was: now's a good weekend to buy a lawnmower.

When did I get so dull?  

I needed a lawnmower. I've been borrowing my parents' mower for a year, and I couldn't reasonably do that forever.  I have my own lawn, I need my own lawnmower. Being responsible and taking care of your things is the right and proper thing to do. And yet...

It's a good lawnmower. It was reasonably priced, it starts easily and it cuts the grass well. I'm glad I have it. I have no complaints about my purchase, except that it's a lawnmower. I spent my raise on a lawnmower.

It bothers me that I didn't think about buying something less practical, like an X-box or a ridiculously overpriced handbag. It never even crossed my mind. I've never been a party girl, but I thought I had some personality. Being responsible and capable is useful and all, but it doesn't have much in the way of excitement or glamour. Next thing you know, I'll only being eating out at lunch (the prices are better) and refusing any caffeine after 2 pm.

The wages of sin may be death, but the wages of practicality appear to be boredom.