I am not one of those adult-aged people who complains about adulting and other things adult-aged people are expected to do as adult-aged people. Because no one wants to hear that shit. Yes, going to work every day is hard and shit. But work is hard for everyone. Saying you hate work because its hard is like saying you hate gravity and disrespectfully unseasoned chicken breasts. But mostly I never complain because being an adult is a hundred thousand trillion times better than being someone who is not an adult. Mainly because, as an adult, you can do whatever the fuck you want as long as its within some standard of reasonable legality.
For instance, think about how many shitty meals you were forced to eat the first 18 years of your life, and how often you had to eat what was placed in front of you just because the person in charge of you bought and cooked it so your ass better eat it. 30% of your adolescent and teenage meals probably had you thinking even then that you couldn't wait to be an adult so you could eat whatever the fuck you wanted to. That shit don't fly as an adult though. You know what I had for breakfast yesterday morning. A slice of crack pie and a rib. Why? Because I'm a grown-ass man who wanted some pie and some swine yesterday morning, so I reached into my grown-ass refrigerator and grabbed it. And I ate it while watching Elmo's World. Because fuck you, that's why.
Still, despite this full embrace of age, one thing I'm just never going to get use to is the exponential increase in random-ass pains and aliments. And not shit you can point to like "Ok…this act resulted in this soreness. This makes sense." But the shit that just happens arbitrarily. Like you're just sitting down somewhere, eating some celery, and then a sharp pain shoots through your big toe. And then, right in the middle of you wondering what the fuck is wrong with your big toe, it just stops. And then it never happens again. Basically, your body just takes turns punking you; giving you enough random acts of dumb-ass soreness as pay back for all the consequence-less shit you did as a kid. Your body has all of your receipts, and just can't wait to be able to use them and shame you for no reason. Your body is basically Black Twitter.
And nothing so far has compared to what I'm experiencing now, as two hours of intense pick-up yesterday resulted not in sore shoulders or fatigued thighs, but stinging fucking nipples. Nipples! I didn't even realize it until I got into the shower, and the water hitting my nips made me scream like a badger was biting them. (Have you ever tried showering while avoiding water contact with your nipples — and not just one nip, but two nips? I felt like I was playing the saddest game of naked Twister ever.) Even now, almost 24 hours later, as I write this, I need to be mindful of how aggressively I type cause each time my t-shirt brushes against my nipples, I want to cry.
So kids, if you're reading this, remember that getting old is great. You can eat whatever you want and you can even collect paychecks while writing fart jokes on the Internet. But one day your nipples will rebel against you. So shame your nips into submission now before they get any ideas! Tell those nipples who's boss before it's too late!