In less than seven hours time, I’ll be the big one-six. Sweet sixteen! Legally able to drive a moped! But there’s a part of me that feels deceived. Sixteen is heralded as being the age where one blossoms from an awkward teenager to one blessed with the gifts of glamour, attractiveness and the ability to move without falling over/looking like a prat. Or not.
My childhood wish that I would be beautiful, able to see properly (I really shouldn’t have gone to Specsavers) and going out with a spectacularly attractive male, hasn’t really gone to plan. Instead I sit at home and read books, and then moan about everything under the sun to you lot. Other than the realisation that my childhood dreams have been crushed, what makes my turning of age even worse is the fact that there are certain things that society says I really shouldn’t do. Like…
Fall over. Falling over when you’re a toddler is considered cute. It’s not cute when the body sprawled on the floor is five foot seven and a size ten. Especially if said body is wailing ‘Bread! I forgot my bread!’.
Order hot chocolate.
I love hot chocolate. But when the four year old in front also orders a deluxe Belgian hot chocolate with whipped cream, sprinkles, chocolate dusting and a brownie, one tends to receive strange glances from the barista. As if they’re thinking ‘You look sixteen — why aren’t you satisfied with a capuccino, like the rest of your generation?’.
Throwing things at people.
My parents will happily testify – we even have videos – that I spent a great portion of my childhood slathering my surroundings with yoghurt. Sadly, I can no longer announce my displeasure by throwing food at people. In all honesty, I’d rather eat it.
So that’s all folks! I shall see thee when I am more attractive and less geeky. Or not.