Recently I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m a grown up.… I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown up. Do you know how I know this? Because I do all of these things:
Using the outdoor washing line so I don’t have crunchy towels. I hate crunchy towels. It doesn’t matter how much fabric softener I use, my towels are never soft. My towels hate me.
Owning a bag for life. Even though I never use it unless I need somewhere to store my clothes when I clear my wardrobes out. Or when I’m moving house. That’s it though. I never use the bag for life in quite the way they have been intended. I have a drawer filled with bags for life. Those fuckers are gonna outlive me, that’s for sure. They don’t ever get used. That’s why they are a bag for life. It’s a con.
Not eating the entire bar of chocolate. I can actually open a bar, eat like five squares, wrap it up and put it back in the cupboard now. When I wasn’t a grown up, I would have eaten the entire bar. Chocolate in resealable bags were wasted on me. Now I use the resealable bags. I’m a grown up now. I can say no when enough is enough. Well, sometimes anyway.
I own an umbrella. When I wasn’t a grown up, I danced in the rain. I love the rain. I find the rain weirdly romantic in a wet kinda way. One of my ultimate fantasies is to recreate the scene in Nine and a Half Weeks where they fuck in the rain, on the stairs, down a deserted alley. So hot. Too hot. But now I’m an adult, the rain worries me. My makeup might run… I straightened my hair this morning, and it’ll go frizzy if it’s wet. I’ll be wet… Back then I didn’t care.
I don’t like drinking anymore and I suffer with three day hangovers. Actual three day hangovers. Not exaggerated ones. You know that thing they tell you when you’re young – you’ll grow outta partying every night and one day your hangovers will kill you? Yep, that truly does happen.
Eating Ceasar salad. What an adult dinner dish. As I sprinkle on the Parmesan cheese and top it all off with a few croutons, I admire my handiwork and think to myself, what an adult dinner! It even looks like a grown up dinner, all healthy and nutritious and colourful. Apparently all of us grow up in the end…
Walking past 18 year old versions of myself. Or even younger these days. I see them – the little blonde girls with the big blue eyes and the badass streak and I think, what happened to me? I used to be one of those girls. Now I worry about paying my mobile phone bill on time and whether or not my sun cream is strong enough for me to avoid getting cancer.. will my hair fall out if I go blonder.
So there you have it. I’m a grown up. I get excited by things and I worry about whether or not I’ve had the time to bleach the toilet this week.. I would rather have an easy life and long for a relationships without too many dramas.