All growed up. Today, anyway.

Mostly I'm glad I have common sense, but sometimes it can suck the fun out of things. 


Like for example, let's say I wanted to tell you, a hundred of my nearest and dearest girlfriends, a hilarious story about how I ran into my husband's boss and his wife out at dinner the other night. It's hilarious because I made a startling and embarrassing discovery about my clothing an hour after I left them, but it's the kind of thing I probably shouldn't share on my blog. I'd tell you if it was just you and me goofing off over a plate of something delicious at our favorite local taco dive. So that makes me want to tell you here, too. 


But in the same way I might be mindful of the nearby company when I told you my story at dinner, I realize I need to do the same thing here. It's the whole principle of "there's a time and a place" for everything. I wouldn't go on a breastfeeding rant with a table full of my husband's friends. I wouldn't start a political debate in relief society. I wouldn't offer a breakdown of my aches and pains to the grocery store checker or an overview of my innermost feelings to the bank teller.


You know what? I probably would go on a breastfeeding rant at a table full of my husband's friends if I thought it would be funny.


But there I would know my audience. Here, I hit "publish" and I'm not always sure who will be stopping by and I have to think about who I'm putting my stories in front of. It's not that I want to self-censor, but for sure some filtering has to happen. So I guess I'm not going to tell you my funny and possibly inappropriate story because danged if I didn't turn into a grown up when I wasn't looking. It only took, like, thirty(ish) years.