When I was 15, 26 seemed like a really long way off. I figured by the time that I got to that ripe old age I would definitely be married, have a child, and own a house.
Adulthood isn’t what I expected.
I thought that I would feel like all the women I saw on the train in the morning; poised and well put together, with matching underwear sets for each day of the week and a perfectly organised handbag full of all the daily essentials that one might need, and be able to organise my way through daily life without a hair out of place.
The reality is rather more sobering. Some days I get to work and realise that I have my underwear on inside out (this actually happens more often than you would think!), and if my bra matches me knickers then it has to be a major league event, like the Diamond Jubilee. Sometimes I can’t even find a pair of socks, let alone a pair that match. My makeup is done in the morning through a bleary smog, and by the time I get to work, having negotiated the intricate labyrinth system that we refer to as the tube, it has worn off in patches, leaving me resembling a giraffe. And don’t even get me started on the days that I have to wear tights, which normally results in me putting my toe through them and having to rush to the shops to buy a new pair.
I didn’t think I’d be still waking up on a Sunday morning with last night’s makeup on, hair all over the place and bedroom looking like a tornado had swept through, lamenting that vodka isn’t my friend and what the hell happened to everything in moderation? And my wallet, for that matter.
I didn’t think I would still warble at the top of my voice when I thought that no one else was listening, to show tunes or cartoons. Sure, it used to be a whole new world, and now its tunes from Wicked, but Defying Gravity is still hollered through my house while I am doing the hoovering.
I didn’t think that I would still be calling my mother on a regular basis with any medical emergency (or non emergency) that happens. I think ill be all grown up, and then I get a rash on my arm and I check Web MD, freak out that I have meningitis and call my mother, who calms me, tells me to roll a glass on it and concludes ‘ive probably come into contact with something scratchy. Thanks Ma!
What are you finding different to how you imagined?
*thanks to Fibronomy Awesome for inspiring this post. You can read hers here*