I’m just glad I didn’t get blown up.

I’m watching Chopped with my sister right now.  This is just another TV show that proves how stressful the culinary arts can be.  I feel vindicated.

So here’s something: Two nights ago, I found myself sitting in my upstairs hallway with my dear, dear roommate at 11:00 p.m.,  staring at our heater and contemplating the likelihood of whether or not it was going to either a) explode, or b) set off enough natural gas to kill us both in our sleep.  It is events like these that make me feel like I’m still a little kid.  How the heck was I supposed to know how to fix my heater?  Heidi had no idea, and neither did I.  All we knew is that it was cold frigid in our house.  Brrrr. 

We sat there.  And stared.  In the hallway.   At the heater.  In our pjs.   Like little girls.  We listened to that giant monstrosity of a heater as it kept trying to turn itself back on (a loud process, by the way), but when the pilot light is out, there is just not much it can do.  As we sat there, putting on extra socks and piling on layers, we talked and wondered about what life would be like when we became real, legitimate adults.  We wondered if we would ever know how to fix things like this ourselves.  Or if we would end up with strapping men someday, who could waltz up to the broken pieces of machinery and know exactly what to do.  Heidi will totally end up with someone like that.  I will probably end up with someone who will sit next to me and stare at the heater with the confusion.  I’m okay with that. 

The heater never restarted itself, and eventually we gave up and went to sleep in our respective rooms.  I spent that night laying in my bed, shivering, and wondering whether or not I was going to get blown up. That cold sleep felt a lot like the cold you feel when you go camping in the fall, except not fun. 

That’s Heidi (far right) and my other wonderful friend, Kira (middle).  We are dingbats.  I just wanted to share, because I love them so very much, and because I feel like in an odd way, we have found each other in a weird, awkward mid-twenties time of our lives.  Most days, we help each other grow up.  And other, better days, we get to prevent each other from growing up.  I am so thankful for them both.

I wonder if I am ever going to feel like a real adult.  I have a lot to learn, and a lot of mistakes I need to stop making.  I’m working on it.  But at least I know, as of yesterday, that a broken heater won’t fix itself, but it also (most likely) will not create a movie-worthy explosion.

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