Dear Fake Adult Aria,
Technically I’m in my early twenties but my insides are made of an eight year old. An excited 8 year old. This is a problem when attending important meeting type things. They’re not even expecting the young adult that I’m supposed to be, they’re expecting a suave, sophisticated adult. HAHAHAHA no. Talk about your fiction.
But you, Fake Adult Aria, save my 8 year old butt by bursting forward with confidence and acumen. Thank you deeply for helping me trick all of the real grown-ups into thinking that I’m one of them. I don’t know where you come from or where you go but you appear like a bonus level in a video game, all shiny and ready to go.
I have successfully assimilated into the office culture because of you. You keep anyone from noticing that the 8 year old is wearing gym socks with the business suit, that I definitely was not just dancing in my cubicle, and that I’m humming Disney songs. What? No. I am a fully certified adult.
You even pulled it off last night. Meeting = me + adults who are friends with my parents that I’ve known my whole life. One of them was even my grade 8 teacher. I spent most of the night reminding myself not to call them “Mrs. _____” or “sir”. When the 8 year old couldn’t quite bring herself to call them by their first names, you deftly avoiding names altogether.
We successfully adulted and it’s all thanks to you. They even think that I can do real grown-up tasks because you offered real grown-up opinions with fancy words and a reference to statistical type things. Successful adulting? I think so.
So Fake Adult Aria, we make a good team. Feel free to stick around,