Technically I am an adult. Although I am still relatively new to this whole adulthood business I remain constantly and inappropriately shocked about it. If someone told me my mother enjoyed consuming the live young of other humans I’d probably respond by saying that explains a lot about my childhood. If someone refers to me as an adult I stammer and ask them whether they have misplaced their manners.
‘I am not an adult’, I huff, ‘I am an -.
Then I remember I am an adult and the law has given me responsibility for myself. Shocking!
In fact if I so wish with just a whisk of my own pen I could decide for myself if I wanted to be sexually exploited within the pornography industry. I don’t think I have the kind of emotional intelligence or contract savvy to sign that kind of agreement, but there you go. I am only one legitimately recognized signature away from being sold into the sex market.
Surely there must be a solution. There must be a way to get out of this growing up business. And there is, friends, family, people who have randomly googled something and come upon this page I will be going on a journey to Neverland. Sure I am older than most of the Lost Boys but surely they need some matronly figure to warm their milk and bandage their knees since Wendy left them. Plus poor Tinkerbell must be bored sick of listening to the quiet angst and rapture of pre-pubescent boys discovering themselves.
Some may say there is no Neverland, but they don’t have the highly secret map I have obtained in exchange for my magic beans. So I’m off and when I come back, if I come back, I’ll bring you by some wonderful tourist trinkets from their gift shops.
Otherwise this is the last you’ll hear from me, unless Neverland has a good Wireless connection.
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