Entering the last few hours of my teenage years, emotions are kicking in. Up until now I've been all giddy and excited for the day- the annual onslaught of cake and presents and parties and cocktails is usually met with sound enthusiasm- but as I prepare to take on a whole new age band, I fear I haven't quite prepared myself for such events to proceed.
Hitting the double-double-digits, I'm expecting great change. Like when you turned 10 and you got your big teeth, you wore your first bra and your shoe size went up one or two, I anticipate my 20s to be met with similar joys. That said, as my feet have stopped growing and my height has reached it's genetic potential, I fear the only 'growth' may coincidence with an aging metabolism, resulting in only disappointing change. Waking tomorrow will give me a whole new 'grown-up' outlook on life, I’m sure. I will always be in a good mood- for hormones are strictly a “teenage” thing; I'll have a wardrobe full of pencil skirts and heels- for that's what one wears in their twenties, and a pot of the all-important eye-cream will surely be nestled amongst my gifts. I guess I should start seriously searching for 'the one' too, ‘cos you settle down in your 20s, right?
Yes, gone are the days wearing shorts too short, sheers to sheer, and forgiving my behavior on that "one last vodka", for I can no longer be excused by my youth. I worry more about the life lessons, that I haven’t yet learnt, nor likely to be taught. When am I going to learn how to properly apply make-up? Or learn to dress for my shape? Or even the real etiquette of how to eat spaghetti in public? Not to mention life's real peril whereby staying out in the sun too long now comes with genuine consequences, for wrinkles and crows-feet are only months, or maybe weeks away.
Leaving my teenage years behind, turning the big 2-0 comes with a whole lot more responsibility than what 18 or 19 brought. Learning to deal with legalised drinking and having the option of buying or not buying chocolate liqueurs is nothing compared to learning to live like a grown-up. As if that isn’t enough for little old me to deal with, I’ve chosen this the perfect time to up and move my life again. Crossing the pond (yet again, just this time a different pond), this time next week my life starts in Sydney bringing further frets, worries and now that I'm 'old’, wrinkles are proably on the agenda too.
Spending my last night as a teen going to the theatre, I feel a bit topsy-turvy doing such a grown-up deed, for tomorrow’s plans- when I’m officially no longer young- consist of cupcakes for breakfast, getting giddy over gifts, and whiling the night away in a one or two too many Margaritas.
So long, youth.