This week, I woke up worried about the future of my unborn eggs in a world that is now being run by reality TV stars.
I have things such as health, bills, career prospects that play on my mind these days. It’s boring and grown up and I don’t like it.
If only it were 10 years ago. When, to be brutal, I couldn’t have given two shits who was sitting in the White House and I certainly paid no thoughts to the gas bill.
If only it were 10 years ago when all we had to worry about were things like;
- If you could actually handle overtime at your Saturday job.
Because, you know, between doing four hours in a shoe shop and completing a whole two bits of coursework a month, you were pretty stressed.
- If you were going to get found out for not actually having had sex yet.
Because apparently the earlier you do it, the cooler you are and THE CLOCK IS TICKING.
- If you were going to get found out for not actually finding thongs comfortable. Because everyone was wearing them. But your mum didn’t really want you to wear them because in her middle aged mind they just meant sex. And you didn’t really want to wear them because they felt like you were being inappropriately touched up by dental floss.
- If you were going to get rumbled for using Sparknotes.
Like every teacher in the land didn’t secretly praise the day that got invented and the day you were smart enough to use the internet so they didn’t have to actually converse with you.
- If you were going to get embroiled in a teacher/student affair like the girls in the North you heard about on Newsbeat.
Because, I’m not gonna lie, we all saw how Mr Allback looked at me in AS Chemistry. And it was a look that just screamed ‘let’s elope to France’. Trust.
- If your EMA was going to stretch out far enough for you to go bowling AND underage drinking in one weekend.
Or if you were going to have the heartbreaking decision of having to choose.
- If your Mum was going to find out that you smoked at lunchtimes.
Like she wasn’t wise enough to smell it on your uniform but was just storing it in her armoury to completely and utterly obliterate you one day.
- Parent’s evening.
And potentially getting found out for not going to 3rd period History two weeks ago because you and Sexy Sean were bumming a zoot and having a snog at the back gate.
And the risk of having nobody to walk round a shopping centre with, with absolutely no purpose whatsoever.
- Having to convey your emotions on text messages before the invention of the emoji. How did one even let a boy know that she fancied the living shit out of him without the invention of the monkey. HOW GODDAMIT!
- Having to manage your time.
You know, how does one teenager fit in doing her Art & Design homework at the same time of spending ample amounts of time flirting with that boy from the common room on MSN messenger. I’m not a magician, Mum.
- If the overall look of your MySpace really reflected you as a person.
I mean, can you tell this is the real me? Maybe I should add on some more pictures of B2K.
- Wondering if you ever will truly get over the fact that Ben Anderson snogged Sian Blackey at that party EVENTHOUGH he’d been texting you for like 3 whole days. And after he’d told Josh from next door that he thought you were decent. This is what real heartbreak feels like. This is it.
- If you were able to grind correctly.
Like, am I doing the right thing with my hips to this truly awful dancehall song at this honestly frightening house party in the middle of South Norwood?
- If your bum looked peachy enough in your acid washed jeans from New Look.
Or if you needed to go down another size so that you couldn’t breathe, but so it really popped out so boys would chirps you on the bus.
- Dealing with the gut wrenching, agonising pain that even though you are full blown grown up with your own mind (ahem) and your own money (all £25 a week of it) you still have to actually LISTEN to what your parents have to say and still live in their house. What. A. Drag.
- If you were pregnant.
Because that girl in J17 said she got pregnant just from fingering ‘outside clothes’ and you kissed Reiss from work last Saturday so you’re pretty sure you are next in line for a teenage pregnancy.
Life was so hard.