women
Today I was asked, by friend of my father’s, how old I was, and my reaction was hesitant, to say the least. I genuinely could not remember. I have no valid excuse, my birthday was in November so I’ve had plenty of time to get used my new age of twenty-one, yet there I found myself, staring down at a mug of latte, foolishly aging as the seconds flew by. Then it got me thinking (uh oh)....
Birthday’s are without question something that all children get very excited about. Just like men like football and women like shoes, that sort of thing but even more concrete. And granted, as we get older birthday’s are something which tend to lose their excitement, and whilst I’m not urging everyone to begin the countdown to their 34th, 83 days, 6hours, and 20 mins early, I still think a little bit of birthday fun is in order, y’know, so we actually remember our age for the next 364 days.
If someone asked me how old I were when I was, say, 7, I could have told them right down to the minute. But now it would seem that give or take 6months is the most accurate you’ll get from me.
As a child, it’s not just the typical birthday that marks our age, half years also creep in there. I don’t remember there being too much hoo-ha over the 6month milestone, but I certainly recall there being a distinct progression from 5, to 5 and a half.
Of course there’s a very adult and matter of fact way to look at this, we’re adults now and quite simply have far bigger and more important things on our minds, all the time, to bother too much about being 21 and a half, and frankly one birthday whizzes round to the next quicker than I have time to remember to sort out the spare room, but still, we’re all young at heart, aren’t we?
Now, if you have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, then please don’t hesitate to bring this to my attention, otherwise there’s the risk that my friends might receive and party bags at my 22nd, 23rd, no, 22nd.
FemaleFirst - Jennifer Stuart, 21