It was when three of my friends and I moved into our shitty fibro share house that I came to realise my free trial of life was over. 

Adulthood doesn’t start when you turn 18, that just allows you to make adult mistakes. Adulthood is coming to realise that if you don’t turn lights off when you leave the house, it’s going to cost you money. Adulthood is when you suddenly understand your parents’ frustration at you throwing whatever you wanted into the trolley at Coles. All in all it’s one big fat burden, but an unavoidable one.

Upon my life as a big boy commencing, I gradually learnt my lessons. Week in, week out I would learn something new about how to function as an adult. With all of our parents’ second hand furniture and some road side gems arranged in the house, we were ready to go. The first week is full of excitement, everybody is coming around to check out the new place, it’s great. Then as the first week passes you begin to realise that the care package mum and dad had shipped you off with is nearing its end, big boy responsibility number #1 – Shopping.

What was once the chore of pushing the trolley in and out of the isles of the shopping centre is now an exciting journey of wonder. The endless possibilities these shelves may hold, a day dream of you whipping up le pièce de résistance lingers in the back of your mind as your eyes pass over the unpronounceable pastas. Weaving in and out of the isles grabbing whatever your heart desires you are filled with a feeling of success, fending for yourself is easy.

The dodgy wheel on your trolley starts to tremble beneath the weight of your indulgence, you chose the middle aged check out chick so she can revel in your successful food shopping. As the *boop’s* of the items being scanned serves as a soundtrack to your Snapchat story, your taking no notice of the digital sum growing and growing. As the scanning sounds stop you pull out your wallet to complete your noble quest. However, your ears are met with the slow grumble of the cashier, “That’ll be 189 dollars hun”. Suddenly, with a face more red than the triple strength bin bags you’ve just bought, you come to the painful realization it’s either swallow your pride, pick out and return some of those flashier items you finessed into your trolley, or to bite the bullet and cop it.

In my case I copped, it, realized I couldn’t cook for s*^t and traded most of it for beers.

Step one – Learn to shop.