I am 27 years old and I cry when the old lady in the next room openly mocks me for being such a baby about having blood drawn. I think hateful things about her and then later come to the realization that yes, being old does give you free reign to be an asshole, a privilege I intend to take full advantage of once I am shriveled enough.
I am 27 years old and I still take my mom with me to the scary doctors appointments. I say it's only because she insisted that she drive me and it means that I won't miss as much work because I don't have to use public transit, but that's a lie. My mother's fretting allows me to be calm, something I am incapable of when I'm alone.
I am 27 years old and I still get an Easter basket full of chocolate treats (from the Easter Bunny, of course); I still cover my ears and shut my eyes during the scary parts; I still laugh when one of the pups humps the other pup; I still worry about what other people think of me; I still call my dad when things get rough; I still eat a disgraceful amount of mac & cheese; I still look up to my older sister; I still dream about what I want to be when I grow up.