The late night gab-fest had turned from silly to serious as we fought sleep. Perhaps it was I who began fretting about the inevitable change as we curled up on the couch. She, one of my dearest friends, was leaving very soon and I wouldn’t see her for more than a year and a half. Time had crept in and our idyllic college days, where we had all romped and discovered a second childhood, were coming to an end.

“I hate growing up and becoming an adult.”

“We may be older, but we are not grown-ups yet. That requires bigger steps.”

“Such as?”

“Marriage.”

“Laura and James are married and they’re not adults yet–they’re just more like permanent roommates.”

“Okay. Maybe not marriage. But kids do.”

“Oh, yeah. Kids make you an adult.”

Together, we made our list. Kids, definitely. Buying a house. Buying a car that cost more than $500. Have a career. And, as we stared down at the sofa that we had “rescued” from the side of the road, we added one last thing to the list: purchasing a new, real couch. That would be the things that changed us from irrepressible youth to Responsible Adults.

The years have slipped by from that conversation, seven years by my calculation. Liz went away, came back, and lived with me for another two years. My friends all married, had kids, purchased houses, cars, and yes, new sofas, and I was left behind, still lurking on that cusp of being a grown-up. I remained single, in a small apartment with roommates, and my couch, with its hard wooden sides, was replaced with one with softer, smaller arms but a torn seat that had to be supported with books. As that one gave way, it too was replaced with a worn, but matching sofa and love seat (an improvement!), graciously donated by Chris. Still not quite classified as the real grownup purchase.

That is all about to change. I contacted a realtor today to discuss purchasing a house in Milwaukee. In a few weeks, if all goes well, I’ll be a home owner. A few weeks after that, I’ll have a degree and a new title. I’ll have a real job, a career where I’ll be responsible for the welfare of all the patients under my charge.

It’s official. I am now an Adult. A Grown-up. At 27 years, it’s probably about time.

But I don’t think I’m getting rid of my secondhand sofas yet. I’m not ready to be that old.