I had a breakthrough discovery yesterday: I’m a grown up. An adult. Old(ish)...
Around two o'clock yesterday I left work and headed over to Subway to grab a quick lunch. As I was standing in line, I turned to my right just in time to see a teenage couple avidly making out. The guy wore this focused, intent expression; a “Yeah, I’m doing this” sort of look. The look, combined with the licking-the-entire-inside-surface-of-his-girlfriends’-mouth kissing technique employed by teens (and frat boys) everywhere, was more than my almost-thirty self could handle. I shuddered and looked away quickly, and my mind automatically bounced to the phrase “damned kids.”
Usually, when I see public displays of teenageness, I smile and fondly recall my former curious teenage self. I think about kids learning and exploring, constantly testing boundaries, and what a normal thing this is. I see their defiance, their sullen expressions, their need to both fit in and to stand out, and I always think of this awkward stage as an important part of growing up. (I can’t help thinking this kind of crap – stupid psych classes…) I don’t know what it was about this situation – the overcrowded restaurant setting, the especially unkempt appearance of this particular set of teens, or perhaps it was the sweaty, oxygen-deprived, beet-red face of the boy –
but it grossed me out.
Damned kids.
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