Riddles for Adults

I'm left on the table for good service. I'm also the very end of your finger, and a handy piece of advice. What am I?

I'm what's left in your bank account, what a tightrope walker can't do without, and what everyone is trying to find between work and home. What am I?

The waiter brings me, a chess player announces me, and you do me to your phone every few minutes. What am I?

I'm down, but I'm not sad. I'm handed over before you get the keys to a new home, and I usually swallow years of savings. What am I?

I'm an egg nobody will ever eat. You build me up over many working years so you'll have something to live on later. What am I?

I'm a little bed with bars on every side, but nobody inside me has done anything wrong. What am I?

I'm what parents are left with when the youngest child moves out. Birds have one too, once the chicks have flown. What am I?

I'm what you ask the boss for at your yearly review, what you do to a flag in the morning, and what you do with your hand before speaking in a meeting. What am I?

Everyone says they want me, but most people resist me when I actually arrive. I also jingle in your pocket after you pay with a bill. What am I?

A duck has one, a restaurant hands one over after dessert, and the mail brings a pile of them every month. What am I?

I'm the extra hours you work after your shift should have ended, and I'm also where a tied game goes. What am I?

You take me on to buy a home, and I take decades to let you go. Every month you pay me, and the house isn't fully yours until I'm gone. What am I?

I'm due on the first of the month. I keep a roof over your head, but however long you pay me, the home never becomes yours. What am I?

I arrive once or twice a month. You work hard for me, but by the time the bills are paid, I've already gone. What am I?

I'm made of hundreds of cars, but I'm not a parking lot. Everyone in me is going somewhere, yet nobody is going anywhere. What am I?

I'm a plan for money you haven't spent yet. I live in a spreadsheet or a notebook, and one big sale can break me in a single afternoon. What am I?

I'm a thin piece of plastic that lets you buy now and pay later. Clear me in full each month, or I start charging interest. What am I?

I'm a three-digit number that follows you everywhere. Pay on time and I climb, miss a payment and I drop, and every lender checks me before trusting you. What am I?

I'm a page or two about you, written by you, to impress a stranger. I list every job you've had, with dates, and I go out with every application. What am I?

I'm a meeting where one side asks nearly all the questions and the other side wears their best outfit. Near the end, the visitor is asked, 'Do you have any questions for us?' What am I?

I'm a step up at work. I come with a better title, usually more money, and almost always more meetings. What am I?

You work for decades to reach me. Once I arrive there are no more Monday mornings to dread, and every day can feel like a weekend. What am I?

I turn up uninvited, often at the temples first. Some people dye me, some call me distinguished, and parents like to say their kids gave me to them. What am I?

I do the dishes so you don't have to, yet somebody still has to load me and somebody has to empty me, and families argue over whose turn it is. What am I?

I'm a slip of paper tucked under your windshield wiper, and you never want to find me there. I come with a fine. What am I?

I'm packed to bursting before every flight. I ride in the overhead bin, and I have to fit the metal sizer at the gate. What am I?

I'm a key with no teeth. Tap me on the door of your room and it opens, but I'm useless after checkout. What am I?

I take months to plan, a week or two to enjoy, and a few days back at work to get over. What am I?

I'm changed more often than anything else in the house. I'm worn for a few hours, then thrown away, and parents always carry a spare. What am I?

I listen all night so the parents can rest. I sit in one room and let them hear every sigh and snuffle from the nursery. What am I?