Just Call Me Peter.

Pan, that is.  Because sometimes, I do NOT want to be an adult.  I don't want to grow up.  Today I spent $550 fixing my car because something was causing a valve to stay open and make my car think it was Herbie the Love Bug or a race car or something.  How is that fun?  This could end up being a super gripey post, and I don't want it to be, so let's just say this:  I want to go back to where someone else paid for things, where when the world hurts, someone else can take care of it and make you feel better, and when the most difficult thing I had to decide every day was what outfit to wear, or if my hair should go in a ponytail or a barrette.  Why was I in such a hurry to grow up?  I wish I could be a kid again.