Lately I’ve taken to keeping my wallet in my back pocket. I do this, mostly, because it is what I believe grown-ups, and, in particular, grown-up men do. It is unclear why I am under this impression. My friend Andrew started carrying a briefcase, chain-smoking, and drinking coffee and coke at breakfast, or whenever he had a drink, really, for much the same reasons, I believe.

To celebrate officially the passing from childhood to adulthood, I went to the mall tonight to purchase some “jobwear.” Now I don’t yet have a job, but should I manage to get one in the near future, I’ll have some new, pleated pants to wear in the office. Pleats have consistantly baffled me until now. Indeed, they still do and I’m working on that. These are the second pair of pleated pants I’ve bought in about four weeks. The first pair were for the Leverett semi-formal. Those, however, are flannel, and so I don’t count them on account of their whimsical material. No one can take you seriously in flannel. But, much like the wallet, somewhere in my mind I’ve decided that grown-ups wear pleated pants. It took me some time to get up the courage to try them on. Even having brought them back home, I’m still not convinced of their worth. But they do make me feel all grown up.

Twenty-three is such a funny age.