Apparently, there are three words you can’t say anymore, especially around high school seniors: job, work, and college. 

   The first time I said one of these words, the world practically stopped spinning. I was whittling down a summer day with my friends, minding my own business, when a spontaneous thought popped into my head: “Ohh, when I get home, I have to work on college applications.” 

Everyone gasped, shocked by the “c-word.” With a theatrical gasp, one friend clutched her necklace like she was auditioning to be on Broadway. Another whispered, clearly disturbed, “Don’t say that! Don’t summon it!” It was quite news to me that filling out the Common App was like saying Bloody Mary three times in the bathroom mirror, but instead of a ghost appearing, Hey! You’ve got five more supplemental essays to write.

   The following week, another friend mentioned her eight-hour shift at her pickleball job. Once again, shock. Gasps filled the room. Someone even faked fainting. You’d think she confessed that she was skipping homecoming or getting back with her ex, or the biggest scare of them all…didn’t want to go to Taco Bell. 

   Then it hit me. Seniors have started censoring these words as if they’re actual curse words. Work becomes “w*rk.” College? Never heard of it, although we still have c*llege applications to get done. And job? Oh no, we don’t say the j-word around here. 

   It’s like we’re in some secret club where the responsibilities of growing up are ‘He Who Must Not Be Named.’ Don’t you dare say his name because you’ll summon the FAFSA demons, or worse, both of your parents will appear to ask if you’ve finished your essay yet for the 67th time this week. 

   But honestly, I get it. As much as the prospect of graduation is exciting, having real-world responsibilities is equally terrifying. No one wants to admit that they are going to get Cook Out milkshakes at 11 pm or going to Target and trying on funny outfits instead of writing their essays. And don’t even get me started about w*rk. I’d rather throw that responsibility in a truck and have it driven three states away so I can pretend it doesn’t exist. 

   So let’s take a breath and figure it out together. Let’s develop a wonderful butterflies and rainbows proposal that won’t make you want to crawl into your bed and doomscroll to avoid the slow slide toward adulthood. This whole censoring of words is going to get old and annoying fast, and let’s be honest, leaving childhood behind has its perks, too. So let’s just invent better words. Col*ege can be a four-year sleepaway camp. J*b is just a money chore. And wo*k is mandatory fun time you get paid to do! Problem solved, and now we just have to wait for this new slang to take off. 

   Until then, if you need me, I’ll be busy with my j word and absolutely not my four-year sleepaway camp applications.