Little Baby's All Growed Up

Just as I get done convincing myself that single gray hair was actually a natural highlight and the lines forming on my forehead are just shadows caused by sub-optimal bathroom lighting, a neighbor calls to ask if James and I will be her kids' "emergency contact people." Which means that if her kids are home alone and there is, say, a natural disaster or a scary stranger lurking about or a swallowed Monopoly piece they will, in her words, "run to you for help." At first I was flattered. I thought, hey, this lady trusts me with her kids! She thinks I'm a responsible adult! That can't be bad, right? But then I thought back to my own childhood and my own emergency contact person. Three words: FRUMPY. OLD. LADY. Grownupness isn't all it's cracked up to be.