Margaret decided at age 19 that adults were nothing special. When she was little she’d believed there was a switch that, when flipped, made you unafraid of doctors’ visits or ordering for yourself in restaurants, and gave you confidence in any situation. Now she knew, there was no magic button—you were still afraid, just taller. So imagine her surprise when a man came to her door to issue her a license for adulthood. “What kind of adult would you like to be? Nurturing? Intellectual? Romantic? Confident?”
“This is bullshit,” she answered.
He nodded. “I’ll put you down for Cynical.”