Growing up is such a barbarous business, full of inconvenience... and pimples.

"Hook met the accusation with a jaunty shrug. 'Not I. You yourself. The moment a child answers the question 'What do you want to be when you grow up?' he is halfway to being an adult. He has betrayed childhood and Looked Ahead. He has joined the rank of those clerks and chicken-pluckers and box-packers who scan the Situations Vacant column in the newspapers."
Curse those teachers who demand that you choose a profession in kindergarten. Curse those admissions counselors who make you declare a major. And those professors who ask you to write papers on your own personal mission statement? Make them walk the plank. In my fairy tale, they are the Captain James Hook. They are the robbers of childhood and imagination.
Perhaps they thought that by robbing us of our imagination and instilling good sense and responsibility, we could make the world a better place. But, it turns out that sense of responsibility is what drives us to take jobs as chicken-pluckers and travel agents and retaill clerks and box-packers. Maybe we still have that imagination and that sense of adventure. But, everyday we get up and make our way to our less than desirable jobs, we are forced to supress our inner Pan in favor of paying the rent.
These professors and admission counselors probably thought their plan was foolproof, but it turns out, it's acutally imagination and that sense of Peter Pan-ian adventure that will make the world a better place. It's going to take a few Peter Pans to solve the world's biggest problems. That common sense and concern for responsibility only brings about the concern for the bottom line and concrete facts. And quote all the statistics you want, and the Captain Hooks of the world certainly do, but that's not going to save the world.
It's true. We have no fairy dust. But, Pan said, "to live would be an awfully big adventure." And, I'm thinking to live life as an adventure is a far better alternative to living a life concerned with the bottom line.

On a scale of one to ten, I'm a three...and counting...

I have completely given up the male gender. I am done. I am starting to think that those crazy cat ladies who live in the old broken down house on the corner have a good plan. I understand them.
Cats don't let you down. They don't lie. They don't cheat. You remember to feed them, water them, and clean out their litter box and they will be your best friend. They will cuddle with you. You never have to fight for control of the remote or the radio. You don't have to do their laundry or remind them to put their dishes in the dishwasher. And, they are always listening to you and will never try to fix your problem.
So what if their houses are a little broken down? They don't have anyone to fix it for them. Why? Because they gave up on men and as a result, their gutters don't get cleaned, they siding doesn't get fixed, and their stairs sag a little. In the long run, does it really matter? Instead, they get to spend every night in their sweatpants with no makeup on and their legs unshaved. I think that's a trade that is more than fair.
Now, I love kids as much as the next person, actually, probably more. But, right now my bitterness level is at about a three. Give me a few years and I might be a lot higher. I'm thinking a fifteen. So, I'll probably be glad that their trick or treaters are too afraid to come and ring my doorbell. Maybe they think I would boil them and eat them, and I'll be honest if I ever get to a fifteen, I might boil and eat them. They might want to stay away.
And for those kids who do actually reach my doorbell, props to them, but I probably won't have any candy. I probably ate it all, along with the entire contents of my fridge.