What's my age again?

 

I tell people that I'm 29.

My official line is “I tried being 30 for a year and didn’t like it, so I went back to being 29”. It usually gets me a polite laugh or two.

But I’m not sure how much longer I can get away with it.

Last weekend we went to a 21st birthday party at a very trendy pub in a pricey part of town. For the first time ever, I felt out of place and worse; I felt OLD.

It may have had something to do with the fact that I was out after 9pm on a Friday night (my bedtime these days is 9.30pm)

It may have had something to do with the fact that I haven't surrounded myself with 21 year olds since, well... my 21st.

Or - most likely - it may have had something to do with the girls dressed up to the nines in their slinky dresses, with towering strappy high heels, and boobs that don't hang down to their bellybuttons. Whilst I was dressed comfortably in jeans (that most likely had toddler snot on them), a sparkly top that hides a multitude of sins, and boots with a sensible heel.

And jealousy is not a factor here people, I can assure you... yeah right!

It certainly didn’t help that we were caught talking to a peppy 23 year old real estate agent, who was on a fantastic salary, still lived at home, owned his own investment property and was expecting a very large commission check for a very large deal he had just completed.... WHAT THE?!

When I was 23, I was on a mediocre salary, living at home (because I had no choice), wasn’t even aware of the term “investment property” and was expecting a large hangover from a night out with my friends!!

These days I’m on a good salary, wishing I still lived at home (for the free laundry service!), wondering when I will ever be able to afford my own property – let alone an investment, and I expect there will be a large pile of dishes to wash when I get home...

Jeez, I tell you what, as much as people like to complain and moan and take the piss out of Gen Y – these kids are on to a good thing, and they seem to be savvy enough to make the most out of it.

Anyhoo (can’t quite work out how a blog about my age turned into a rant about Gen Y!)

The thing is, until I went to that party, I had been feeling pretty happy about my real age. Yes, of course I hate ageing – and who doesn't!? – but I have sort of accepted it.

I still FEEL 23 on the inside, I still act like a petulant teenager more often that I should, and I still get a shock when I look in the mirror and the face staring back has a smattering of wrinkles and a few grey hairs (what the hell happened to the smooth skinned 23 year old!??). Yet, for the most part, I'm happy with my position in the age bracket... For now.

Of course, I have no intention of “aging gracefully”. There’s an email that does the rounds every now and then about living life to the full:

Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, champagne in the other, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"

And that's how I want to do it, worn out (possibly drunk) and happy... Oh there may be a touch of Botox involved, and possibly some surgery to stop me from tripping over my boobs - but you get the gist J

Oh and just so you know, the next time I go out, I’m dressing up  J

Pictures 1 and 2