It starts slowly, so slowly that I never quite see it coming. Instead of ironing all my clothes for the week on Sunday evening, I toss a few items in the dryer with a wet washrag and consider that acceptable.
The next week, I identify all the knit clothes I own, toss them into the dryer with a wet rag, and skip the ironing all together.
The following week, I guiltily get clothes to the dry cleaner and vow that I will iron the rest. I do iron those clothes. But I resent it.
The next week I find multiple excuses to avoid drying my hair and turn up at work with braids or a messy bun in hopes that either will disguise my failure to be a mature adult. My clothes are mostly ironed, but it’s a job done poorly. I still resent it.
The next week, I start packing flip flops in my school bag, so I can switch shoes as soon as the school day has ended.
And then a day comes when I get to the car in the morning and only then do I realize I am still wearing my morning flip flops. I know I should go inside and get school-suitable shoes.
I do get them.
But I grow weary of grown-up clothes and grown-up efforts. I want to wear flip flops every day. It’s May 10 and Spring rebellion is in full bloom.
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