The majority of my life is spent acting somewhat maturely, pretending to be a grown up and hoping that at some point, as I get closer and closer to thirty, I will work out what the hell I am supposed to be doing.
But there is a tiny percent of the time that my inner teenager fancies getting out and wreaking havoc. We all have one, don’t we? A child who often scurries away and hides, allowing us to go about our daily business without too much bother, but sometimes pops up when you’re least expecting it and pings a metaphorical elastic band in the face of a stranger.
Last week was one of those weeks. On Friday I had a massive teenage strop when my computer at work decided to start writing in Russian. I couldn’t for the life of me work out how to change it, and after spending half an hour on the phone to IT, I accidentally flung a pint glass of water over my desk, soaking everything including the carefully handwritten to do list that I had been writing to take up some time while IT fiddled about.
Then, at the weekend, I was met with someone who I wouldn’t normally come across. A feminist (I can almost hear the panto hiss). Dont get me wrong, I believe in the vote and equality and all that business. but there sometimes strikes me as some feminist points of view that are just there to be in the way of life. I don’t strive to be a little lady that cooks dinner and does the washing up all the time, but at the same time I like cooking and I’m firmly in the ‘shaving armpits is a must’ camp. I like nail varnish and lip stick and sequins and this doesn’t make me a terrible person.
So anyway, back to the story. I was sitting round the table enjoying the first BBQ of the year with a group of people and watching The Voice. The conversation transcended to winners, losers and people from the X Factor, and suddenly there was a heated argument between the boys about who was more horrendous; Alexandra Burke or Leona Lewis. I listened, and then two of us piped up. “Leona Lewis looks like a sex change horse” I said. I’d had a few glasses of wine. My friend argued for why Alexandra Burke was worse, just as eloquently, until we were shushed by la feminist.
“I think that’s totally subjective. We should support her, she is after all, female” she said.
The teenager in me stood up and told her that was ridiculous, and that of course it was subjective as it was my opinion thankyouverymuch and that it didn’t matter that she was female, she was still very irritating and no one could understand a word she said.
But of course I didn’t do that. I smiled, nodded and changed the subject.
What makes your inner child want to throw a tantrum?
If you are missing me then please head over to read my interview with the Byronic Man , where I only mention Ryan Reynolds once.