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You know you're getting old when you injure yourself while sleeping. I woke up the other day with a sore back, and I thought, "What did I do, run a marathon in my dreams? Or maybe I just fought off a dragon with my amazing sleep-fu skills?
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I've realized that adulthood is just a never-ending battle between wanting to go to bed early for a good night's sleep and wanting to binge-watch one more episode until 3 a.m. It's like my body is in a constant debate with my Netflix account.
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Pet owners, you'll relate to this. You ever call your pet's name, and they give you that look like, "I heard you, but I'm not going to acknowledge you until you say it at least three more times"? It's like they're running on a delay system.
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You ever notice how "Monday" sounds like a person you avoid at a party? You're having a good time on Sunday, and suddenly, Monday walks in like, "Hey, mind if I ruin your mood and productivity for the next five days?
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Why is it that we all become expert meteorologists when someone mentions rain? "Oh, you're going out? Better grab an umbrella; I heard there's a 30% chance of precipitation in the next century.
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Have you ever noticed that the most productive hour of the workday is the one right before lunch? Suddenly, you're a superhero of productivity because your stomach is growling louder than your boss's expectations.
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Why is it that when you're looking for something, it's always in the last place you look? As if I'm going to find my keys, say, "Well, let's keep looking, just in case.
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The invention of autocorrect has done wonders for our texting skills. Now, instead of sending coherent messages, I spend half my time decoding what I actually meant to say. Autocorrect is like that friend who thinks they know what you're thinking but ends up making things way more confusing.
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I've come to the conclusion that the most dangerous place on Earth is the grocery store parking lot. It's a battlefield of shopping carts, distracted drivers, and people who forgot where they parked. If you make it out without a dented bumper, you deserve a medal.
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Why do we always feel the need to press the elevator button repeatedly, as if it's going to arrive faster if we annoy it enough? I'm convinced that somewhere in the elevator control room, there's a person rolling their eyes and saying, "Pressing it more won't make it magically teleport to your floor, Karen!
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