How old am I?

I’m an adult!

I mean society tells me an adult is someone who is over the age of 18. However when you’re a child, adults around you often say that they still feel young. It’s the middle aged man who says that he feels like he’s 18 until he looks in the mirror. It’s the lady sat next to you on the bus. You know she scanned her pass with the driver but that doesn’t seem to stop her flirting with you, all batted eyelashes, coy giggle and tap of your knee as she rolls back into her seat complete with feet rising off the floor reacting to a ‘funny’ anecdote you’ve just shared.

You see, I think I’ve fallen into that category. Old. Albeit prematurely. I think prematurely. Is 32 old? There’s this ongoing fight I’m having in my head recently. I say recently, it’s more like over the last 5 years or so. Am I old? ’cause I don’t feel it!

A common saying is that you’re as old as the age you feel, but that can’t be right can it? If so, then some days I’d get on the bus for half. I’d get a lolly when I ate up all my dinner in Little Chef. Then again, some days I’d be able to get on said bus for free and probably get a discount in B&Q on a Wednesday. Some days I feel old, and some days I feel young. OK, some days older and some days younger. Is that what everyone feels?

This frequent inter-cranial battle arose again quite recently when Emma my wife and I stayed with friends. Ste and Claire, a great couple. Enfianced. Wedding in August. Very excited and rightly so. The two of them (same ages as us) seem so grown up to me. Not old. Mature in the sense of being comfortable in their ages. Incidentally, they’re the best hosts ever. Constantly feed you good stuff, leave you lovely fluffy towels on your bed and always a good supply of new and exciting drinks such as the latest flavour from Rekorderlig Cider or a recent genius concoction of ginger beer with Famous Grouse whisky. As I said, Genius!

I should add at this point that Claire is a buyer for a large drinks distributors and as such, she often gets free samples. Best. Job. Ever.

What’s more, when you’re set to end your stay at Chez Claire-Ste, you’re sent off with a packed lunch that would put your mother’s curly sandwiches and Transformers’ Thermos of Tizer to shame, including 2 bottles of white, a share size Lucozade, yummy sandwiches in Zip-Lock bags, Haribo and a TWIN PACK of Jaffa Cakes. Win!

So during our stay, we do what we all do. We mainly reside in the kitchen. Chatting, drinking, eating, laughing, yoinking new films from hard drives. Last one just me? I think not. However, during this time when we’re hearing about the wedding plans and salivating over the descriptions of the wedding breakfast, I’m suddenly lifted above the whole thing by my head. Almost floating above, looking down at myself and shouting, you don’t belong here! You’re stood there with your Ginger Grouse all chatty and grown up but you aren’t. You’re acting like a grown up. They’re gonna figure you out soon you know!? In a matter of moments everyone’s gonna turn and look at you and ask why you aren’t in bed. It’s a little off putting as you may imagine. Especially as I’d just started a little anecdote regarding how soon is too soon when crying at you’re own wedding? If you’re interested, I went far too soon! I’m stood there thinking, this really is a lovely evening, yet all the time I’m thinking that what I am in fact doing is acting my age. Acting.

If left to my own devices, without the strains of society, I’d drink the chocolaty milk out of my bowl at the end of a Coco Pops session. I’d scratch my bum if I needed to, regardless of being in the middle of a city centre on a Saturday afternoon. I’d sit on the floor when I’m tired, negating to acknowledge that my wife is currently looking at new jeans and I’m in the middle of a department store on said Saturday.

Do we act like we do because we want to, or is it because we have to due to our years?

That’s why more often than not, there’s seats outside a ladies’ changing room so weary husbands and partners can take a load off. However when there aren’t seats. END OF THE WORLD! It’s like a site of a refugee camp. All husbands and partners stood leaning on walls or clothing rails, each one avoiding eye contact, getting the way of other shoppers and checking Facebook or Twitter on their phones. We acts like adults, but are we actually ‘adults’?

I see people on TV and think, yep, they’re an adult. Only to find out that they’re younger than me. So it’s a concept then? It’s an appearance? The appearance of being an adult. Of being ‘all growed up’. If that is in fact the truth, with an active imagination like mine, I doubt that I’m ever going to feel like an adult. A mind that torments, chastises and generally winds me up on a daily basis.

If a person is the sum of their experiences then we’re all the ages we’ve been. We’re Child and Adult at the same time regardless of age. I’m a Kid-ult. An Ad-ild. Sweet!

Time for breakfast. COCO POPS!



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