When I bought an actual bedframe. It wasn’t the bed at my parents’ house, it wasn’t the bed that my college dorm owned, and it wasn’t an air mattress I had been sleeping on during my internships. It was an actual bed, a real piece of adult furniture. It wasn’t a small cheap metal frame. It was bulky and adult and real, and I owned it.
I wish someone would call me their dearly beloved ham casserole.