In Which I feel Slightly Older

This is truly a sad, sad tale.  A sad tale indeed.  A very sorrowful lament.

Well actually, it's not a song, I just really wanted to say "lament" in a sentence.  That's one of my favorite words ever, and I NEVER get to use it!  Stupid english language, having the only worthwhile words never being said.

Like "withershins."  It means counterclockwise, or so my friend tells me.  Or "gallimaufry," "incondite," or "factotum."  Really depressing.

But that isn't why this post is sad, folks.  This post is sad because it truly marks the end of an era for me.

See, I was having a pretty typical day up until lunch.  I checked my facebook, went out for a run with my Cross Country team, complained about running a bit with said Cross Country team, then drove home, checked facebook, took a shower, facebook-stalked, and then settled down to play a little Kingdom Hearts when it suddenly hit me.

I was incredibly hungry.

See, first of all, this is a big deal, because normally I'm not that hungry until I've zoned out until about 3 or 4 PM, after which, I normally just wait for another hour or so just to be more efficient with my eating and dish-dirtying habits.  But this time, I was at that point where all I could think of was food and how much I wanted it in my tummy.

That's right, I said tummy.

That's right, I'm about to start my senior year in high school.

Your point?

Now, I don't know about you, but it's pretty hard to smash Heartless into little tiny bits when you're occupied by your dream steak dinner, so I decided to pause my annihilation of enemies (I'm making this game seem a lot more violent than it really is) so I could make a sammich.
For those of you who don't know, when I say "make a sammich," I don't actually mean I make a sandwich.  I mean that I will stand on the outside of my refridgerator for a good five minutes, trying to stare down the deli meat into submission so it can just jump on a slice of bread after spraying itself with a little mustard first.  I didn't win today, as usual, so I closed the fridge and looked into our closet, where I found a box of Macaroni and Cheese.

That's right, I actually cooked.  But that isn't the sad part.

The sad part starts about now.  See, I need a pan to cook this stuff.  I know this is probably news to you, but there's a lot of complex things that go on while preparing food, so if I go to fast, just read a little slower.

See, the only pan my family has that can handle the amount of mac and cheese that a Kraft box can provide was dirty.

So I washed it.  And as I was heating the water, I realized something.

It felt like the pile of dishes in the sink was taunting me with its lack of cleanliness.  See, our dishwasher is something I like to call I pile of garbage, so we wash our dishes by hand like we did in ye olden days.  And when I say "we," I mean I see that the dishes are piling up in the sink again and promptly shut myself in my room until my parents wash them.

Mature, I know.

But this time, I was home alone, preparing myself mentally for the cheesy goodness of my fake pasta and staring at these incredibly dirty dishes.

It got so bad, that I did something I never thought to do.

I...

I washed them.

It hurts to say it, but that's right! I did it!  Not only did I thoroughly wash a large sum of plates, silverware and cups (not to mention a tough, nasty battle with a little bit of curdled milk) all by myself, I did it without either of my parents nagging me to do so.  Of my own accord.

I really surprise myself sometimes.

Upon realizing that I actually did something slightly mature, I finished my macaroni and cheese, went back down, shut off my playstation and shut myself in my room in a terrified stupor that I was finally becoming a respectable adult.  It was an extremely bone-chilling sensation, and I didn't like it one bit.

And Dad, because I know you're reading this, no, my room doesn't affect me the way dishes do.  So don't even mention it.