The itch of 26

In three days time, I will be 26 years old.

The big one.

Screw 30, everybody knows the real shocker is 26. You are just out of that 18-25 bracket, no longer a young person, excluded from that ticking that lucky box of youth. If that isn’t bad enough, you suddenly have to pay full fares on trains. You are officially an “Adult”.

I’m not expecting anything particularly magical or distressing to happen. No new wrinkle will appear nor will I suddenly start receiving e-mails about life insurance but alas, I will know that I am now older than a quarter of a century and that genuinely freaks me out.

So whilst this is probably not a good idea for my current fragile state of mind, I often see blogging as a kind of therapy so here is my list of what I expected to happen by 26 and what the status quo actually is.

My social calendar (and I’d have a calendar, possibly on a blackberry ((those were very in when I was considering 26-dom)) and it would be filled with wine tastings, dinner parties and lunches.

Reality: I have a phone that is so smart, it seems to know where I am going before I am. However, this just further reminds me of how unorganised I still am.

And surprise, surprise I still go to/host house parties that look appropriately (for Bristol, not my age) like Skins and just pure squalor really. Our household seems incapable of keeping more than four wine glasses in tact and our cupboards are filled with stolen pint glasses and festival cups, amongst other more unsavoury items.

Expected: This makes me cringe to write, but at the tender age of say 12, I had assumed that by 26, I would have at least one of the big three: you know CAREER. HOUSE. MAN (or woman, although my 12 year old self was not that progressive)

Reality: House? Well more of a squat, honestly worse than my old student houses (shouldn’t living conditions be improving?)

Career? Well the jury’s out on this one. I always wanted to be a vet as a child and whilst my current job holds similarities (Never work with animals or children), I am not entirely sure I’m doing what I want to be doing. For a while I was getting those job website adverts after every youtube clip I watched (mostly Jonathan Creek episodes, naturally) but this helped me decide I don’t actually hate Mondays. So maybe this one is half way there.

Man? Ah I promised myself I would never blog about this one. He is lovely. He is younger (a whole school year! :O). He also works away a lot and like most 25 year old males, isn’t thinking about any of this stuff. Well, he may have a point.

Expected: The dreaded C word…no not Christmas, children.

Reality: This seems rather mad now. I still feel much more like a child than a “grown-up”. I fully concur with those memes: I panic when someone asks for an adult and go and look for an adultier adult. Exactly that. Often at work I feel like it’s all some weird dream and I will wake up responsibility free with no-one expecting to gain an A-level from what I say.

Still I was young and thought 26 was ancient, which it is, but still not quite old enough for babies.

Doesn’t mean I’m not still holding a grudge at Gwyneth Paltrow for stealing my idea of childrens’ names inspired by fruit bowls (It honestly wasn’t Apple)

Expected: A grown up wardrobe, complete with sensible yet stylish designer dresses.

Reality: Not even an actual functioning wardrobe, currently using the boyfriend’s (much to his annoyance) and looking on gumtree for rails (Seriously, how can I be 26 this week?!)

One Matthew Williamson handbag and most of Zara’s current collection are the only silver lining of this otherwise chaotic excuse for fashion.

So whilst I am inclined to agree with the Sex and the City, bit part character who cries out on her 25th (!) birthday, whilst Carrie looks on with disdain, “FUCK, I’m old!” Here’s still hoping that I get a lot older and a lot better at dealing with the ageing process.

I recently bought an anti-wrinkle cream but hey, by next year I might have a fully fuctional wardrobe.

Fingers crossed.


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