Regressing

I was kind of surprised when the girl behind the counter at Starbucks asked me a question while I waited for my tall mocha frappuccino, so I didn't really hear what she'd said, especially over the roar of the coffee-making-machine-thing.
"What?" I said, leaning over the counter.
"Do you have any big plans for tonight?" she asked again. I shook my head.
"Oh, uh, no." I paused, trying to think if I was doing anything special. I'm usually not. I'm single and don't have a driver's license, so any "big plans" of mine usually involve watching movies or going to Walmart and buying candy and/or milk with Sarah and Laura. Which are all of immense importance to ME, but usually aren't considered big plans by anyone else. "I'm, um, going home."
She smiled. "Oh, that's nice! Have fun." She handed me my coffee, and I was on my way.
I felt really grown up. Partially because I was drinking coffee, which I don't do a whole lot, especially not coffee from Starbucks, but mostly because that was the first time I've mentioned to a stranger that I don't live at home. I live on my own, now. For all she knows, I'm a famous safari explorer who has been living in the Sahara desert for 5 years. Although I suppose my immaturity is revealed by the fact that the first example I thought of just now was so farfetched.
My friend Grape is spending the night. She's downstairs about to sleep. We both have church in the morning. I went to a concert at her church with my little siblings and ran into her there. She saw me and literally screamed with excitement. It made me grin. It made my heart expand. She tackled me in a great hug.
I love hugs, I think. I'm really awkward with hugs, but I like them. I never realized that I didn't know how to hug until last year. I was in a play and was supposed to hug my "husband" and it became all too clear to everyone that my body couldn't manage to coordinate itself into a hug. Maybe it's because I'm used to hugging people much shorter than I am (my siblings and mother) or much taller than me (my brother and dad) and not used to hugging people who are roughly in my height range. Or maybe I'm just not used to hugging people who aren't my family. Anyway. The moral of the story is that now that I am better equipped to hug people, I like it. I especially like when Grape tackle-hugs me. Because it's an overflow of love and joy and it's slightly violent, but only because it's unrestrained. And wonderful.
So what I'm saying is, everyone who sees me anywhere should just hug me. (That's not true. Only because I think people would be crazed out if they thought I was serious.)
Do you ever feel like you're in junior high again? Sometimes I look in the mirror and can only see an awkward 8th grader. I remember one time in 8th grade I wore an outfit that consisted of all items of clothing with the word "princess" on them. Even my socks. My shirt said princess. My jeans said princess (and, to be fair, other things as well). I might've even been wearing a hat that said princess.
Why didn't anyone tell me that wasn't okay?
I'm often afraid that I'm making those same mistakes. I'm still the same person, if you think about it. I haven't learned all that much about fashion since then. I still just wear whatever stuff looks awesome to me. It might still be ridiculous. I wouldn't know. Most of my clothes come from thrift stores, which means that most of the things I wear are things that other people have already decided that they don't even want to own, let alone wear. The only difference between myself then and now is that now I'm aware that I'm capable of being and looking completely silly when I think I look great.
Maybe that's okay, though. My dad used to have a mullet. My dad is even a reasonably cool guy. If everyone in the 80s was duped into having a mullet, it might be okay for me to dupe myself into wearing weird clothes.