At some point between my 21st and the 21st we went to last night, I got old. I’m not sure how or when that happened.I get the why part; I’ve pretty much doubled in age. I guess that covers the how part as well. But as for when, at which point did my clothes become old-fashioned, my shoes like something out of the dress-up basket, and my hairdo (or obvious lack thereof) so yesterday?
At the same time, I’m not worried. If I look back at the girl smiling at the camera in my 21st photos, the one with the same messy ponytail as I have now (ah? What’s with that? There’s the answer to why your hairdo is so yesterday), I’d be excited for her. I’d want to let her know she’s in for an amazing ride.
You know how you know heaps of stuff about everything, I’d tell her, how much you love your family, how grateful you are for all they’ve done, how much you love your friends and how much they mean to you, how much fun you’ve had in 21 years?
Well, I’d squeal as I jumped up and down in front of her, it’s about to double.
And then some. In fact, not double at all. Multiply. By heaps. Into amounts you’d never thought possible and ways you could never express. And my 21-year-old self would have smiled politely and thought, ‘Why do oldies always talk like that?’
She’d have seen this photo on my blog or Facebook and dismissed it as a bad iPhone photo of someone’s husband and kids on the beach. I wouldn’t try to tell her what that photo was really of. How could I?
So wise one, yes, you typing this with the messy ponytail, even if you hadn’t felt old last night straining to hear the person opposite you over the beat from the DJ’s speakers (doing lots of nodding and smiling politely – I still do that), you had a cup of tea after the 21st last night, so it’s official.
And in The Bear & The Whale news, I got a custom order this week for a bird mobile in white, cream, grey and brown to suit a beautiful nursery. I came up with this and sent it:
Now it’s nearly 9pm. It’s late. I must end this here.