Am I An Adult Now?

I am technically considered eighteen years of age. Now, I’m not saying this is correct, but I show up to be this old in the government system. I guarantee that if any specialist looked at me they would determine that I have the mental capabilities of a five year old. At best.

I’ve also never done anything you would consider “adult”. Never traveled anywhere alone, never bought my own car or house, and never cooked my own meal. That last one is an adult action in my book, because my cooking skills are honestly abominable. I know for a fact that it shouldn’t take me forty-five minutes to cook crunchy, clumpy mac-n-cheese.

But all of this changed a week ago (cue bobby shmurda please) when I bought a camera. A real camera. As in, one that you can change the lenses on and fancy stuff. I consider it my first ever adult purchase, and I almost pissed myself buying it. I called my mom twice because I was so scared to spend this much money on one thing.

“Mom, should I buy it? I want it, but it’s so expensive. I’m already poor.”

“I don’t care, you can make your own decisions, it’s your money.”

“Yeah but no I can’t so tell me what to do.”

This continued for five minutes until she hung up. I feel kind of bad for her, because if I was only half stupid she could blame that on my father’s contribution to my gene pool, but I am most definitely full retard. There’s no way to be politically correct about this, it’s a fact. Besides, I’m pretty sure that label is similar to black people using racial slurs when they talk, so I’m allowed to say that.

Anyways, I have made my first adult purchase and bought a camera. It’s way too complicated for my below average I.Q. of roughly sixty, but that’s okay, because a fancy camera has auto-mode for a reason.

I just gave every photographer an aneurysm with that sentence. I’ll have to add that to my non-existent list of things I’m good at.