You know, if you ignore the obsession with drawing dinosaurs and unicorns, I think I mostly qualify as a grown-up. I have a steady job, mortgage, I pay my bills, eat fairly well, and exercise pretty frequently. You know, adult stuff.
That is, until for one reason or another, ice cream shows up:
...which invariably causes me to instantly regress two decades emotionally.
This is unfortunate, as it does not matter if I am in a professional setting or not. I'm pretty sure my co-workers all think I'm an idiot.
...don't even get me started on when there's cake in the copy room.