Ever notice how adulting is just Googling "how to fold a fitted sheet" and then promptly giving up? I swear, my fitted sheets have a secret life where they moonlight as avant-garde sculptures when I’m not looking. Meanwhile, I’m still trying to figure out how to buy the perfect amount of groceries where I don't have to play "Fridge Tetris" or end up with a lonely onion that’s sprouted an existential crisis. Honestly, being an adult is like being a teenager, but with more responsibilities and fewer people telling you to clean your room. 