Bipity Bopity Screwed.

Did you hit the age of 18, assume that once you passed over that magical line of adult hood that you could not be a child anymore, pick up a booze, and screw the park? I dream of never growing up. I am unfortunately not Peter Pan, for fear of ridicule, for I do not look good in tights, but I digress. I am so afraid of being an adult. I am on my way to being twenty, and I feel like I am not like other teens. I just want to get ice cream, and watch Spongebob. I want to run around the park, and dance until I can not breathe. I do not want to dance well, but gesticulate at one hundred miles per hour, and laugh so incredibly loud. I do not want to party in a house with peer pressure, or profanity. I want to drive in my baby blue car at 8:30 as the sun is setting, listening to Nora Jones, with a sweet tea, and not feel badly because I am skipping a chance to grow up faster. I want to run with someone that makes me blush through a field, and fall, roll, and laugh until we curl up on the ground. I want to sing to the stars on the back porch until two in the morning, and have someone say it is beautiful. I do not want a party scene, I want a modern day fairy tale. Come fly with me?