What’s my age again?

Today I:
a) Bought polka-dotted galoshes.
b) Bought sock monkey slippers.
c) Bought a barrette for my hair that I think was only intended for use by children under the age of seven.
d) Went to a drive-through car wash and marvelled at the wipey-thingies gently washing the snow-gunk off the car.

I’m a grown-ass woman, yes. But what the heck does that even mean? Am I too old for polka-dotted galoshes? I certainly hope not. Do I look silly with sock monkeys on my feet? It does not matter, because I do not care.

My wish for humanity is this: May you never be too old to appreciate the wonder of the car wash.

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