Sunday, February 15

Growing up

Sitting in my parent's front room at 11am this morning, eating chocolate croissants (dropping flakes everywhere and making an almighty mess) and watching Film 2009 while wearing a white head sweat band a la Bjorn Borg I was struck by an epiphany: I am not very grown up.

Being grown up is getting up and having something to do, every day. Whether that's paying your mortgage or wiping your kid's backside. It's not responsibility, I am reasonably responsible. It's having a purpose. I have spent many idle days content with not pursuing any kind of purpose. In fact, I love it.

I used to be petrified of growing up, to the point where it kept me awake at night, but a close friend in her late 30s put my mind at rest by saying "Gemma, the secret is, you never grow up. I haven't."

I still dance around in my front room when nobody else is there. I also eat Party Rings and watch cartoons in the school holidays.

Photographic evidence of sweat band wearage is here.


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