April 1st, and I’m no fool about what that means: tax season. Oh, I know it’s last-minute — always been a late bloomer.
No other time of year do I feel less like an adult than when it’s time to mimic the adult-like responsibilities of itemizing receipts I didn’t save; indexing capital I didn’t gain; going loopy over my dearth of loopholes.
Luckily, in the mail, just in time to distract me, comes a catalog of “Adult Education” classes offered by the county. On the off-chance I can up my game for next year, I browse the listings.
“Shirley’s Tool Party”
Wait, what sort of catalog IS this? Frederick’s of Hollywood? Looks like a good time, except the “user” fee is steeper than tuition. Already I feel used. Moving on … here’s a “brand-new” offering:
“Twitter – Tweet Your Talk!”
For serious? A class on using Twitter?! wtf ppl. :( The description, 311 characters long, I might add, reads, in part: “Set up an account [2 seconds], determine who [whom] to follow, attract others, and find out what others are saying about your product or service. Harness the power of Twitter — one of the easiest and most powerful social media tools available!” [sic on the exclamation point] If it’s so easy, why have a class on it? I’m guessing the instructor needs more followers. As a prereq or co-req, I req the “Great Grammar” course a few pages back. Or maybe glaring grammatical errors are the hallmark of social media. I GET IT.
“Drawing Even if You Can’t Draw a Straight Line”
Always wanted to take an “adult” art class late in life, but I can imagine only drooling imbeciles among my fellow classmates here, sorry. Maybe a cooking class …
“Knife Know-How for Beginners”
On second thought, might not feel safe in a “beginner” knifing class.
“Where Are My Keys?”
Now THAT’S what I’m talking about. Perfect class for adults. This almost-rhetorical question of the ages veritably defines “adult.” I wonder whether there’s field work, where we journey, in pairs, to look for our keys, mumbling aloud any random thought that enters and quickly vacates our heads. Better yet, an exploration of: What are all my keys for? I have some on here that fit lord-knows-where and you’d think, given I jangle like a locksmith everywhere I go, I’d never misplace my keys.
Ah, finally. This is what I expected when I opened this book, something I can use to get it all together. Though, honestly, what I expected was more like “basket weaving.” … OK, the description says: “Achieve passion and purpose by putting the many threads of your life together with guidance from a certified life coach using a process called Life Weaving.” … wait, what’s this? It IS basket weaving!