In Which I Offer Definitive Proof Of How Lame I Am

There have been several defining moments in my life that have established beyond all reasonable doubt that I have officially become a grown-up.

The first time this happened to me was when I looked at the Billboard Top 10 and realized that I couldn't hum even one of the songs if you offered me a million dollars.

And then, about a month ago, a teenager I know was showing me a CD of a band she really likes, and I said, "Oh, I've never heard of Oar."

She looked at the floor for a second - long enough for me to know that I'd made a major gaffe - and I said, "What? Is that not how you say it? Is it not pronounced like the thing you row a boat with?"

She looked at me sort of sheepishly and said, "Um, no ma'am. It's pronounced Oh-Ay-Are. You, um, just say the letters."

I'm telling you: it was just like the time my mama called Rick Springfield "Rick Springsteen." I was 14 and was, like, SOOOOO embarrassed because how could she not know the difference?!? I mean, Rick SPRINGSTEEN? WHAT-EV-ER! Rick Springfield was, like, SO much cooler than Bruce Springsteen. Had she not seen Rick sporting a sleeveless t-shirt in the "Jesse's Girl" video?

Because he totally ROCKED IT, y'all.

But then, you know, "Oar."

I said "Oar."

And suddenly my mama and I are equally out of touch with the pop culture pulse of America.

Anyway, I've had several more "Oh my word I've become my mama" moments since the unfortunate "Oar Incident," but I don't think I've ever had a stronger epiphany about the fact that Yes, I Am A Grown-Up than I did yesterday.

Our realtor Leigh just closed on a house that she sold, and the family moved to their new place this past weekend. Yesterday Leigh called me and said, "Hey, you may not be interested, but The H.'s want to know if you want their moving boxes. Some of them you'd have to break down, but there are probably 30 that have never been put together, and you're welcome to them."

Y'all.

You would have thought that someone had offered me bags of money.

I was beside myself with happiness.

So yesterday afternoon, I drove right over to The H.'s beautiful new home and loaded my car with box after box after box. I couldn't help but think that when I was a teenager, I would have been rolling my eyes, all "GAH, Mama - why can't you, like, BUY boxes?"

But yesterday? As a 30-something grown-up? I was all, "YAY! YAY! FREE BOXES! FREEEEEE BOXES!"

It was like Christmas. A very ironic Christmas.

Only a Christmas with no actual presents.

Just, you know, boxes.

But still.

I wish I'd had an Oar or a Rick Springsteen CD to listen to on the way back home.