Peter Pan said to Wendy “Come with me where you’ll never, never have to worry about grown up things.” As I turned 20 it dawned on me that at some point, in the not so distant future, I would have to start worrying about grown up things. My friends, and I use the term loosely, seemed to revel in my misery as I realised I was getting old. It’s a fairly daunting prospect and one that I would do anything to avoid. Peter, won’t you take me to Neverland?
I am not ready to grow up and quite frankly I don’t know who can make me. I still own a teddy bear, I quite clearly indulge in Disney and I still find flatulence fairly amusing. Just because I am no longer a teenager doesn’t mean I can’t be careless and irresponsible surely? I must have a few years of pranks and pettiness left in me. I begrudge being told that I am old, or that it’s time to start acting like an adult. While I am well aware that I now have responsibilities, I am not too keen on taking life all too seriously. I vow, then, to enjoy being Twenteen.
Twenteen is this marvellous age where I can enjoy all of the benefits of living on my own, spending my money how I want to and staying out as late as I want without feeling like I need to justify my decisions to anybody. Twenteen is that wonderful empowerment of knowing that you are in control of your own future and it can be whatever you want it to be. Twenteen is being able to put cling film on the toilet seat so that your housemate pisses all over the floor- now it’s your house so who is going to tell you you’re being immature or silly? (Except your housemate, should s/he be a) boring or b) grown up.)
Getting older is, unfortunately, inevitable. And whilst I am not quite ready to let go of my teens and embrace my twenties, I intend to have a lot of fun finding that somewhere in between.