I'm not doing that

I hate a lot of things, and I feel comfortable with all of you knowing that. I hate flip-flops and I hate cargo shorts. I hate when people walk too slowly because they're reading something on their phones, and I hate when couples won't stop holding hands on the sidewalk, subsequently forcing me to walk into a pole or tree.

But I also hate a number of things I now refuse to do. And because I will never run out of grievances or space in which to air them, here's my official manifesto appropriately titled "I'm Not Doing That."

I'M NOT:

Eating at restaurants where the table is the size of a small jar

Why is the table so small. Why can't my water and meal co-exist. Why is there a candle that takes up three quarters of any and all usable space. Why am I using my lap as an extension of the table. Why am I also sitting on a stool. Where did the chairs go. Why won't you take my menu away. Why am I forced to put my coat and bag on the floor and then sit with my legs tucked up under me. Is this the Teddy Bears' Picnic. I am 32 years old.

Going to "sing it!" when a singer tells me to "sing it!"

I paid cold, hard cash to go to your concert, so when you tell me to sing the chorus to a song you wrote and are now performing, I am assuming that you don't know how "money in exchange for goods and services" works. I am paying you to sing. I am giving you the money I have earned over the course of my life to perform the music I like enough to go out and listen to on a night where I could happily stay in and do nothing. And look, I know it must be nice for you to hear a lot of people sing the words you wrote, but here's the thing: I don't stand onstage and begin reading an essay and then stop mid-way through, waiting for you to recite the rest. Nobody wants that. Nobody asked for that. And nobody ever will. Sing your songs. Do your job. Goddamn it, man, this is somehow even worse than when you ask me to clap my hands.

Going to clap my hands as a means of percussion

It is not my job to keep time with my own hands. That's how drummers work. That's their job. Also, I am not paying to hear my own hands, and I'm holding a drink so now I just look ridiculous.

Going anywhere I can't sit down

There are restaurants that exist in which you don't sit down. Why? Why would you do this? Is standing "cool"? Is getting tired "rad"? Is trying to find a space to place my belongings "hip"? I want to die. Life is hard. You just made it harder.

Going to a place with surprise live music

Music is great. Congratulations to anybody who makes music for a living. I'm proud of you. But also, I would rather walk into the cold, swirling ocean than show up to a restaurant to find out there's going to be live music, now forcing me to shout to my friend about our personal life crises over pasta or potatoes. Once, a friend and I met for dinner to talk about various aspects of our mental health and in the middle of a particularly painful revelation, someone began strumming the hell out of an acoustic guitar and singing their version of a song I'd heard before but have since blocked from memory. How dare he. How dare everyone. And how dare restaurants not have a large warning sign out front saying, "We are about to make it impossible for you to have a conversation — enjoy!"

Going to play organized sports

I will not be in your softball league, I will not be in your baseball league. I will not play dodgeball or volleyball or raquetball. I might play tennis, but I won't be very good at it and I will play only to feel more like the celebrities I see at Wimbledon. I also will play for about 10 minutes before giving up and going for lunch. I hate teamwork and I hate camaraderie. I am Kristen Wiig in Bridesmaids telling Carol to get her shit together, always.

Going camping

If I wanted to sleep outside, I would forfeit rent and build a life in the woods.

Going to "crash" anywhere

When I was 15 through 21, my favourite thing to do was stay out super late and sleep anywhere. I slept on floors, I slept on couches, I slept in cars, and sometimes I didn't sleep at all. Now, I am old. I am cranky. I am the worst. I am tired all the time, and despite how tired I am, I still can't sleep because what adult can, riddle me that. So here's the thing: I am not sleeping on your couch, I am not sleeping on your floor, I am not sleeping in a recliner seat. I am sleeping in a bed like the elderly woman I was born to be. I am the aunt in Anne of Green Gables who cannot believe two youths have awoken her (only for it to be later revealed that the aunt in question is amazing as hell).

Leaving the house after 11 p.m.

I was recently invited to an event that didn't start until 11. I called the police immediately and deleted the person who invited me from Facebook, my phone, and my life entirely.

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