Adulthood is a scam.
We spent our entire childhood wanting to be in charge.
Nobody mentioned the laundry, tax returns or that every unexplained noise in your house costs at least R2,000.
There’s a dangerous moment that occasionally happens in adulthood.
Everything is done.
The washing machine isn’t running. There are actual groceries in the fridge. The kitchen counter is visible. You’ve replied to the school message, paid the thing that needed paying and even remembered to buy toilet paper before discovering there are three squares left and a family member shouting your name from behind a closed door.
For one magnificent moment, you stand there thinking:
I have my sh*t together.
Don’t get attached.
By Wednesday, the house looks like Monday never happened.
There are seventeen cups next to the sink despite there being considerably fewer than seventeen people living in the house. The laundry basket is full again, which feels unnecessarily personal. The milk is finished. Nobody told you the milk was nearly finished because apparently this household operates on a strict discover-it-when-you-need-it inventory system.
There’s also a school form that needs signing.
It needs to be back tomorrow.
It has been in the school bag since last Thursday.
Obviously.
This is adulting.
Not mortgages. Not turning 18. Not having your own car.
It’s discovering at 9:14 on a Tuesday night that your child needs cardboard, three toilet rolls, red paint and “something recyclable” for a project tomorrow morning.
Tomorrow morning.
You briefly consider whether a wine bottle counts as educational recycling.
Then remember you’re supposed to be setting an example.
You love your children more than life itself.
But at 9:14pm on a Tuesday, when somebody casually mentions they need to build a working volcano by tomorrow morning, that love can become surprisingly negotiable.
Relax. We said negotiable. Nobody’s actually selling the kids.
Although if the project also requires glitter, we’re listening to offers.
The biggest surprise about becoming an adult is how much of it is just maintenance.
Nothing stays done.
You buy groceries so you can buy groceries again.
You wash clothes so people can immediately dirty them.
You clean the kitchen so somebody can walk in twelve seconds later and announce they’re making scrambled eggs.
You go to the bathroom and discover the last person used the final piece of toilet paper and left the empty roll behind.
No replacement. No warning. Just an empty cardboard tube and the consequences of trusting your family.
That is something that could lead to m*rder.
And then there’s the admin.
Passwords. Insurance. Licence renewals. Dentist appointments. School WhatsApp groups. Things requiring proof of address.
Why does everybody need proof of address?
At this point, SARS, the bank, my insurer, the municipality and three delivery drivers know where I live. Surely somebody can start a WhatsApp group and confirm it.
Yet somehow we’re expected to keep track of all of this while behaving as though we know what we’re doing.
That’s possibly the greatest adult secret of all.
Most of us are winging it.
We just got better at winging it while carrying keys.
And perhaps having your sh*t together was never supposed to mean that everything stays done forever.
Because it won’t.
The washing will return.
Someone will finish the milk.
Another form will emerge from a school bag at 9pm.
Something in the house will start making a noise that costs money.
That doesn’t mean you’re failing at adulthood.
It means you have a house, people, responsibilities and apparently no bloody operations department.
So today, sort out one irritating grown-up thing you’ve been avoiding.
Make the appointment. Sign the form. Replace the globe. Throw away whatever is evolving at the back of the fridge.
Then sit down and enjoy the feeling of being completely on top of your life.
It should last about seven minutes.
Mostly takeaway: Being an adult is basically saying “for f*ck’s sake, what now?” and then dealing with what now. 😂
JOIN THE CHAOS…