Tuesday, 6 September 2011

And what exact point do you start to define"being a grown up"....

Growing up. It's hard, it involves pains, hell, it even involves buying a new wardrobe and the guaranteed "I'm a goth/emo/dead Egyptian/other person who wears giant black eyeliner on a daily basis" phase.

But at what point exactly do we become a "grown up"?

People have been speaking to me recently and remarking on how "grown up" I am... look at you, you bought a house! Grown up! Look at you, you are getting married! Grown up! Look at you, you ate all your vegetables! Grown up!

So why do I still have the urge to throw a hissy fit, lock myself in my room and do nothing but watch True Blood, read Cosmo and listen to The Cure on repeat until the CD wears out.

I turned 26 the other week. I'm in that weird limbo stage of being young still but now having the weight of the world on my shoulders. One minute I'm panicking about whether or not my colour eye shadow is "on-trend" (OK I lie.. I don't worry about this at all, but you catch my drift.) and then swing to "Oh Christ! I haven't started a pension yet!"

People will gladly sell me knives, cigarettes and naughty DVDs should I wish and when small children bump into me their parent says "Say sorry to the lady..." at which point I get all huffy and think "They bumped into me!" before realising I am that "lady".

Maybe people go through their entire life waiting to be caught out. As if the whole world is merrily ignoring the fact they are actually a child in a convincing suit and haven't realised that they aren't capable of tying their own shoelaces let alone dealing with a multi-million pound accounts/world politics/other people's purchasing decisions on washing powder.

So, until anybody finds out that I'd rather be at the kids table playing with my crayons I guess I better keep pretending that I am one of these adult things. Keeps me off the streets at least...

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