It’s not that I file taxes every year or that I hold down a job or that I navigate through airports.
It’s not that I cook (some of the time, quit snickering). It’s not that I am responsible for the care and feeding of animals or that I am occasionally called on to mind small children.
It’s not that I vote in elections and try and be an informed consumer.
No, none of that is proof that I am an adult.
I just killed a spider. All by myself. No screeching, no squeaking and no squirming. No fuss and no muss.
I saw it, I killed it, with my bare hand.
I didn’t run across to get my neighbour, I didn’t curse that Mr. Spit wasn’t home (killing spiders is one of his primary marital obligations. The other is lifting heavy things.)
I killed it. I killed it with my bare hand.
I am an adult. You should fear me.
(Now, if you will excuse me I need to go and wash my hands for the third time, I have a case of the heebee jeebies)