Maturity

I have a major problem with authority.

Well, not all authority. I sure do like you, potential boss or director that has googled me. I'm a dream to work with. I'm talking about silly authority, like a vice-principal that gives detention to a student wearing a skirt slightly above the knee. Anyone who went to private school understands what I'm talking about. Clearly I'm still harboring resentment.

As I get older, this trait is becoming more pronounced. I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up in prison, or at least some kind of holding cell until whatever the situation is resolved.

It's physically painful to stop myself from mocking airport security. Every time they question my 5 ounces Oil of Olay lotion* I bite my tongue from exclaiming, "Yes! You've thwarted my evil plan to rub 5 ounces of face cream into the eyes of the pilot as I hijack this plane going to Minneapolis! Not 3 ounces! 3 won't do! It must be 5!!!" Idiots. Nice uniform.

Intellectually, I know they're just doing their job, and I sincerely thank those people in the position of keeping us free and alive. But get your mitts off my stuff; and wipe that self-important look off your face. There's only room for one smirk in this town, and that's mine!


*Yes, ladies. That's the secret to my child-like visage. Don't go selling out Walgreens' supply!