I’m pretty sure I’ve written it somewhere, but for those of you who don’t know, I’m eighteen.

I know. Shocker. I write so much more mature than eighteen, and I so don’t look like a twelve year old in my profile picture (hey, when I’m thirty y’all all’ll be jealous, if you can even decipher all those L’s)

Anyway, a new found wonder to being eighteen is this thing called a job. I’m not going to school, so. . It’s a this-or-that kind of deal. No in between.

Enter job possibility questions. They go something like this.

So Rebekah, what are your hobbies and interests?

Well, I like writing, fashion, music, kids, baking, outdoors–

Writing, huh? Let’s start with that. Why don’t you look into working for a newspaper?

I write fiction.

You’ll fit in perfectly! [Jk jk jk] [Clears throat] But you’ll be able to write, and that’s doing what you love.

[Flipping through today’s paper] Traffic. . congress meetings. . . potential homicide?! I write about cupcakes and people falling in love! I won’t be able to sleep at night if my life revolved around crime.

How about fashion then?

Not enough experience. It’s too competitive a field.

[Losing patience] Musician?

How is that a job possibility?

Babysitter then??

What am I, fifteen?

Baker??!

[Right about to argue, then stops] We may have something here.

Haha, hope you appreciated that.

So anyway. Baker it is.