As I was watching the X Factor auditions, I would see someone being introduced and when they said 'I'm 17', I'd think, oh we're the same age'. My body doesn't seem to have told my mind to catch up on the last decade.
It's always a shock to me when I realise that I'm not that age any more and I haven't been for a long time. It's like when I think of shows that I used to watch and discover that they ended at least a decade ago (like Friends) or remember a film that I couldn't watch because I was too young when it came out and now there has been a remake of the remake of it.
Seriously, where does the time go? Mentally, I still feel like a 17 year old, although my body feels like it's 57. The other day, I was walking past South Thames College and saw a young girl wearing the same outfit as me. I couldn't help but worry that I may be turning into those women that people whisper 'mutton dressed as lamb' about. I wondered if I am dressing too young for my age, but I don't feel like I am. Over summer, I really badly wanted to get a pair of dungarees, but felt that that would be pushing my luck a bit.
Outside of my workplace, where I have somehow managed to trick them into thinking I'm mature, most people think I'm in my early twenties. Stop laughing, it's true! Although, I will admit, it's mostly due to my behaviour than my looks. Like when I resorted to trying to knock away errant golf balls at the crazy golf course a few weekends ago. Not only did I resort to the tactics of a 9 year old, I also failed epically whilst doing so (I missed the ball).
When I get annoyed, I find myself stamping my feet in frustration. Sometimes I go to throw things but remember I am an adult and will have to clean up my own mess. Plus, I also paid for the thing I am about to throw so the only person that suffers is me.
My diva-ish ways have been with me since childhood. I used to refuse to carry my own backpack to school, demanding that my mother hold it for me. On my worst days, I would refuse to even walk and would sit on the ground until my mum gave in and carried me. Until one day, some evil man saw me throwing a tantrum about walking and came over and yelled at me to get up. Talk about stranger danger! This man was clearly psychotic, yet my mum did nothing to intervene! Unfortunately, I didn't find out about this story until I was an adult, and Children's Social Services refused to do a retrospective investigation. You're safe for now Mama but I'm watching you! Cough*care home* cough.
I look around to see who this 'lady' was that she was referring to. There was only me, this woman and her daughter. I thought, 'great, another lunatic referring to herself in the third person' but as she pulled her daughter out of the way, I realised with horror that she was referring to me.
A year ago, I got asked for identification when purchasing paracetamol (legal age of 16) and now I'm a 'lady'. In my head I'm still a girl. I don't feel or look (shut up) old enough to be referred to as a woman, or worse 'lady'. Ladies are for older women and grandmothers. I can just about look after myself, let alone another being. I still expect people to ask me if my mum's at home when I open the door, instead of launching into their sales pitch because I look old enough to be a home owner. (Although thanks to our government, the likelihood of me becoming a home owner grows slimmer by the day). Or maybe I hate being called a lady because Lady Gaga made the term so ironic.
How do my classmates already feel ready to be wives and mothers?! I am soooo not there yet. When I hear that someone is pregnant, my instinct is to feel sympathy and ask what their parents think about it. I keep forgetting that we are at the age where you would run out of good excuses to shirk parental responsibilities if you find yourself in that position.
I don't want to have to think about feeding and clothing anyone but myself. Even that I don't want to have to do. I frequently cuss Eve in my head because without her curiosity, we would be free as nature intended. They say things go in cycles so I'm eagerly waiting for the bra burning phase to return and hoping that maybe not shaving will be acceptable outside of the colder seasons. Don't judge me!, The hair is like free insulation!
When my nephew throws a tantrum about something not being fair, I'm very quick to inform him that life's not fair and he better get used to it. My brother had to pull me away as I launched into a speech about him enjoying his school years because it's all downhill from there.
I don't think it's too early to warn him that life will not work out the way he thinks it should. I wish someone had prepared me so I would know that I would spend 18 years in education just to work in a job that doesn't use my degree in any way. Someone should have let me know that there is no Prince Charming. There are just lots of little boys trying to spread their seed far and wide and then want to find a nice pretty young thing to settle down with when they're fat and forty. So when you tell people that 'we're with child' they won't know if it's you or him that's pregnant. No one tells you that you that women will be irritable and borderline insane for one week of every month, and that the only way to avoid this is 10 months (because 40 weeks is not 9 months - surely the Hippocratic Oath should include honesty) of pregnancy or going through the menopause. Both of which come with even crazier hormones and lots of sweating. Maybe that's why Disney movies end when they find the love of their life, because it would ruin the fairytale to show what comes after.
I'm doing my nephew a service, giving him free lessons in life, the stuff that should be included in the curriculum. Why waste all that time on maths when all computers and phones come with a built in calculator anyway?! And I don't know about you, but I have literally never had to use trigonometry outside of a maths class.
As I hobble my way past the animated youngsters, I feel less like 17 years old and more 70 years old. I tried to sneak up on my brother and he heard me coming a mile off because all the bones in my toes were click clacking away, like my very own entrance song.
I found myself exclaiming with shock when my raver of a friend informed me that she heads to clubs at midnight. In my mind, that's when you should be going home. For me, the best part of going on a night out is getting ready and getting home. The in between bits of trying to keep my balance in my heels, warding off the wastes of space accosting me and catching the night bus that goes across England before taking me home just isn't as pleasant as the feeling I get when my head hits the pillow. My niece and nephews cry when they're told to go to bed. I literally can not comprehend this. Bedtime is the best part of the day!
Despite how my body feels, my mind will always remain immature. Earlier today, I receive an email where someone had given me both his numbers, despite me never asking or showing an interest. My instant thought was 'I'm gonna prank call him'. As I had my mid morning banana snack, my colleague told me she hated the smell. My response was to wave the banana frantically in her face to make sure she got a good whiff. As I waited for the kettle to boil for a DIY Mocha, I twerked against my friend. I still relate most events that happen in my life to an episode of Friends and frequently burst into song if anyone says one word that is also a lyric.
Thankfully, in the battle, my mind always wins over matter.