I am only pretending to be a grown up, apparently

It appears that, at 21, for every baby step I take towards adulthood I end up being shoved two steps back.

Yesterday, while giving my apartment the old ten-second tidy in preparation for company (this would be the grown up thing) I bundled up all the old newspapers in my milk crate recycling bin and hauled them downstairs to toss them in the giant bin behind my building. In doing this, I somehow managed to bash my face with the milk crate and split my chin open.

Split my chin open. Like a child. It wasn't bad, just a little bleeding, but the bigger concern was this: what kind of person over the age of three splits her chin open? Splitting one's chin open is a toddler rite of passage. I don't know many people who don't have that same scar on their chins from some childhood accident.

In fact, the mark I got yesterday crossed the scar from my three-year-old days of jumping on the bed, so now it looks like a little red and silver plus sign on my chin.