Anyone who has met my parents would attest to the fact that they are in the top 90 percentile of parenting (right above Prince William & Kate, just below Queen Bey and Jay*). My mom and dad did the best they could with a bratty kid whose only passions were eating Oreos and spending their money. But the fact of the matter is, despite their efforts, childhood failed me. It left me woefully unprepared and misinformed about the harsh realities that accompany life out on your own. A few childhood favorites that set me up failure:
A good job, a live-in boyfriend, endless amounts of cash, and a mansion… all in a matter of a few hours? Sure, I stayed up all night on some sort of Hi-C fueled bender designing my new pool, but who cares? I was the Donald Trump of Simsville. Thanks for nothing, Sims. I can’t even afford an apartment building with a pool, let alone have my own. Setting the standards a little high for a 12 year old, dontcha think? And don’t get me started on the whole “rosebud;!;!;!;!” cheat…
Apparently The Sims has gotten a little more advanced since I last played…
Barbie’s get a lot of negative media attention for setting unrealistic body images for young girls. And they do. But not for the reasons you think… Can we just take a second to acknowledge that Ken is way hotter than basically any guy I know?? Twenty minutes on Tinder will remind you that you’ll likely never find your own real-life Ken. On top of that, Barbie taught me that all it takes to be a doctor, a businesswoman, or a rock star is an outfit change. Not quite. PLUS, WHERE THE HELL DO I FIND A PINK CONVERTIBLE?! God, Barbie, you are the worst.
Remember when all it took to make a friend was sharing your cerulean colored Crayola (the best color, no contest) with your classmate? The grown up version is basically the same, except in this scenario the classroom is a bar during happy hour, and the crayon is a beer, and it’s a lot less fun than coloring.
I thought life in your 20s would look like Friends. Turns out, I spend exactly 0% of my day gossiping in a coffee shop.
Growing up, a standard lunch involved a pb&j, chips, a Capri Sun, a couple of baby carrots, and it was considered “healthy.” I didn’t even know how to spell ‘preservatives’ until like, 2011. Pizza rolls. Cocoa Puffs. Fruit Roll ups. Chocolate pudding. Sure, why not? Years later, some smart people were like, “Hey parents, sorry, this is awkward, but you’re actually feeding your kids highly-addictive poison.” Wait, what? So, no more pizza rolls? This announcement was actually very timely, because soon after, I was taught new words like “metabolism,” “calories,” and “please stop eating.” Can’t eat like a nine year old forever. Queue the kale and quinoa. Yum.
*This is American Twenty Nothings. It should be no surprise that I am slightly more fond of our royal family overthe UK’s.