It was with sad resignation that I plucked my diary out of my handbag before making plans with a friend. I’ve crossed over. I’m no longer a child carelessly making plans, to be followed or not, without a care in the wind. I, my friend, am a Grown Up.
My grownupitude is sadly no longer in repute. Here are the signs:
- I have a live-in boyfriend
- I’m closer to 30 than 25 *sobs quietly into pillow*
- Loud bars and general LOUDNESS make me grit my teeth
- I’ve been heard to say ‘All I want to do is have a quiet dinner, why do people even bother going to clubs?’
- So much of work
- I am looking to BUY a property. (Before this, my biggest purchase was M.A.C. makeup.)
- Going out during the week is a daring adventure of Robinson Crusoe proportions
- I need Sundays to ‘recuperate’
- My boyfriend and I buy the Sunday newspaper … and read it
- My outfits are ranked by how formal they are instead of how hot they are (also: ‘Is this too much cleavage?’ is a PROBLEM and not a lovely solution to my problems)
- Instead of the debauchery of 21sts and awkward drunk family speeches, everyone is getting married and there are awkward, drunk family speeches at the wedding.
- All of my friends are having babies
- I have to eat healthily and avoid alcohol or else my body gets all ‘What you been doing man! I didn’t want to make you miserable, but now I have to!’