In less then 5 months I am going to hit the big 3-0 and a deep feeling of shame and regret burns through my abdomen, differing slightly from the giddy excitement I felt upon finally 8, 12 or even 18.
Turning 8 meant being allowed to stay up an extra fifteen minutes each evening. Turning 12 meant seeing Ace Ventura Pet Detective at the cinema and the possibility of getting boobs and turning 18 meant the guilt, so firmly etched onto my face every time I was asked for ID, finally dissipated. Getting into nightclubs underage was no longer a strategic mission where the most weathered faced girl would be planted at the front of our posse, the most juvenile looking sandwiched in the middle and I would be on ‘phone duty,’ i.e smoking cigarettes (like a grown up,) and pretending to be on the phone about how impossible it was to find a parking space near my flat. Continue reading “20 things women should stop wearing after age 30”