When Mother was my age she had two children in school, a house, a job and an only slightly irritating cat. And what do I have to show for myself?
As a child we have many expectations for ourselves as ‘adults’ that we realise now are completely unrealistic. In part because, being an adult doesn’t come hand in hand with having the answers and in part because… adulting – what?
Instead of making myself feel like I have failed my twenties, I am choosing to revel in the glory of my youth and embrace my current short comings.
No, I don’t have a mortgage, but I do have a coat for every possible weather condition.
I am not married and I do not have children but I have spent two and a half years backpacking, so when the time comes my kids will be cultured AF.
No, I didn’t finish university, but #streetsmarts.
I eat my nail varnish so I don’t have to remove it…
I didn’t leave the house this weekend, but I did re-watch 4 seasons of Girls and feel as though I could successfully navigate my way around Brooklyn despite the fact that I have never been.
I own a Clarisonic and have the full Liz Earle skincare collection yet I still use facewipes on an almost daily basis.
Do I read the Daily Mail? Yes, but only for the showbiz section. Okay, and the news. Yes, and Femail.
Yes, I do feel a sense of achievement from swerving the TV license fee for the best part of 2 years, did I shit myself when they knocked on my door..? Also yes.
I buy chocolates as gifts, eat them all and then replace before Boyfriend notices, discarding the evidence in a box within a box at the bottom of the bin.
I pay money into a savings account every month without fail, sometimes it even stays in there.
Am I proud of the above? No. But, in the words of Catherine Tate, am I bothered? Not really. I have the next 40 years to act like a mature adult, so in the meantime, I’ll be here making poor decisions, experimenting with bold lip colours and getting shit tattoos – something that Mother never had the opportunity to do.