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When Shit Gets Real

I’ve had one of them weeks when suddenly you feel like a grown up. I mean, not whole heartedly. It’s still me at the end of the day….my financial affairs are mildly amusing and I still eat fish finger sandwiches for dinner and regard it as a well rounded meal.
I am the female Peter Pan and have had nothing but issues with admitting that I am now in my mid-20’s. I will forever be 21 in my mind and be happy about it.

However.

This week has been an eye opener. Several different events/conversations/sets of circumstances have rolled their way towards me that have made me realise that shit has begun to get a little bit real.
& here they are.
You find a grey hair. In what you thought was a luscious red barnet. A grey, wirey hair like your Mum has. Real shit.
When you get referred to as a ‘woman’. Not a girl, not ‘that bird’, but ‘if you ask the woman over there with the red hair, with the grey bit in it, she’ll help you’. OH GOD.
When you sit down and balance transfer your mounting credit card. Because you want to be a grown up & not keep hiding the bills under the microwave. The sense of mature pride is too much to bear. Clearing out under the microwave brings all of the shame.  
When you get given an intern at work and actually have to manage their time as well as your own. And they are 22 and you think, ‘oh we’re a similar age’ and then you realise that you found a grey hair this morning and her Dad still pays her phone bill. Deadly.
When you download a budget app, because you’re bored of earning decent money & spending it all on gin & lipsticks. And you naively hope that a colourful, well recommended, button on your phone will sort your shit out for you. Sure.
When your best mate is planning her engagement party and you realise you aren’t 15 and sitting in English anymore and you’re actually going to have to see her walk down an aisle in the near future and you sweat a little bit.
Your favourite party boy of all time has a baby and suddenly became a proper man about everything. You feel proud, but also a little bit itchy.
You take recommendations on what books to read on the train. That’s the real-est shit.
When you eat crap for a week and drink too much on school nights and realise that your body actually prefers it when you eat avacodos and drink plenty of clear fluids (that aren’t gin) & you hate yourself for not being a 21 year old party machine anymore as you pack your gym bag knowing it’s the only way out.
When you notice how much you are having to wear your glasses these days….and how you really can’t read the train times without them….and you book in for a contact lens appointment because you still can’t bear the thought of being a perma specky four eyes.
When you actually get a kick out of having a Friday night in. Horribly real shit. 
When you check emails on the way in to work. Cos that’s your life now. Christ.
When you start ordering something other than house wine, cos you understand how rank it is and the extra four quid really aint a thing these days.
You begin refusing shots. No. No I don’t want a instant hit of pure booze on a Wednesday.
You realise Primark shoes just fall apart and are a false economy. Instead you wait two months and buy a pair of Russell & Bromley’s and your feet love you forever.
& the most real of all the real shit.
When you ask your Dad how the Sapphire Wedding Anniversary party was that he went too last night…and he’s says “yeah great, had two shots of tequila didn’t I?”…
..and you realise he’s
 a) probably having a mid life crisis
b) is harder than you.

 Shit’s real. 
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