It's All About The Pert Boobs & Ripped Jeans...
This weekend we had friends over to stay so we splashed out, got a babysitter and we went OUT OUT.
I remember the days when OUT OUT meant hours spent dolling ourselves up, spending days debating what to wear, wondering who was gonna be out and weighing up curling up my hair or straightening it whilst glugging down a large glass of vino knowing that it did not matter if I had a winner of a hangover because tomorrow I could lie in, drink coke and eat pickled onion Monster Munch and watch Friends on dvd. Those were the days.
Nowadays, going OUT OUT has been watered down to going out without a handbag (wooo hoo!!).
As I have got older I am pleased to say that my drinks choice has improved some what. In my teens I was a Smirnoff Ice kind of girl, my early twenties hit and I discovered Pinot Grigio (thanks mum!) and Jagerbombs (why an earth anyone would invent such a ghastly drink is beyond me) and then as my late twenties early thirties my drinks choice blossomed to Sauvignon Blanc (always New Zealand) and more recently craft gin (Silent Pool to be exact).
Now, answer me this. Given the truly hideous hangovers that I have had in my earlier years you'd have thought that at 33 I would have learnt my lesson. I have children. I am a responsible adult. Well I haven't. It's 2:15pm in the afternoon and I find myself sitting here in a gin infused pit with luckily no headache but that awful that I wish I could just chuck up my guts and sleep forever kind of vibe about me. How attractive. I bet Missy from that table in the corner is still in bed lucky cow.
As I boogied the night away to 80's and 90's classics and sang my heart out sounding incredible in my mind, my thoughts turn to those early twenty girls with their pert boobs and ripped jeans dancing on the table. That used to be me once, well minus the pert boobs and ripped jeans, ok yes just the dancing on the table.
Life has changed so much. For the first time last night I really felt like a grown up and most definitely a mum.
There were loads of pretty young things in their midriff bearing hipster tops and trendy five inch heels and there was me looking at them thinking "she'll get a kidney infection in that top and a chill that'll take days to get over" and "I hope she doesn't crook her ankle". WTF has happened to me. Surely having children hasn't turned me to this sensible risk assessing fun sponge.
My twenties was such fun. No responsibilities. I only had to answer to myself (oh and my boss) and I only had to think about my own social commitments and my mum still did my washing. Nowadays, I am co-ordinating four peoples social diaries, I do enough washing that I would fit right in at a Chinese laundrette and have cooked enough meals for fussy eaters to give Gordon Ramsay a run for his money and my signature "in" look is normally a top with some sort of bodily fluid wiped on the sleeve, a ropey old set of pyjamas that I cannot bear to part with as they are so comfy and my trademark "mum bun".
But.....would I trade it all in to go back and live my twenties all over again. NOT FOR A SINGLE SECOND.
Whilst parenting is bloody hard work, relentless and most definitely underpaid there is not enough money in the world for me to swap places with one of those pert boobed, ripped jeans dancing on the table girls. Nope. Well maybe the pert boobed bit.
Being in your early 20's in 2017 must be hard work. Firstly there is the image. They all look like clones. Skinny. Booby. Hair either poker straight or volume that Tina Turner would be envious of. Make up - what happened to a bit of No 7. lip gloss and some bronzer now it's all about contouring ala Kim Kardashian, sky high heels with jeans and trainers with skirts (errrr what?) and THE pout which needs to further explanation. One thing that I am in trend with is that everyone wants a bum and I have enough bum for two people that I don't want - how ironic.
Now I in my thirties am embracing the social media explosion. I love Facebook, Twitter, Instagram etc and I know that it might seem that I live my whole life on social media but given it provides me with an income albeit small I do give the impression that I am always on my phone but I am up to date with my bills, my kids are fed and I hold down a full time job. But being in your twenties nowadays the pressure of social media must be hideous. The pressure to look great the whole time and to be seen at the right places and with the right crowd must be so much more intense than in my twenties when we used to congregate at our local pub chatting with mates or having a big night out meant we went to Oceana and tried to blag free entry with a Matt Damon cut out (that's another story). Or was it the same back then and have I just lost touch?
I also felt old yesterday as I danced. The only modern song I knew was Galway Girl by Ed Sheeran that I insist was played twice despite resistance from the dj. I have officially turned into one of those people that dances like a mum. Tell me how is it possible to dance cool to Pharell's "Happy"? I thought I looked so cool, I really fitted in, well that was until I saw a few glances from Missy Pert Boobs with that "wtf does she look like" face. My feet were going back and forth and my signature dance move appears nowadays to be imitating washing windows, not cool at all apparently. Weep.
But do you know what? I will happily take my simple little life with my snot nuggets, overflowing washing basket and my Saturday nights in falling asleep in front of the tv with a cup of tea every single day over a life of a 20 something in 2017.
To all you 20 something girls enjoy it. Enjoy every single second. Enjoy the hangovers because they will get worse and you will feel on the brink of death. Enjoy the disposable income blown on Jagerbombs and fags because that disposable income will soon go on even cooler gas and electric. Enjoy your pert boobs as they will one day go south right under your nose. Enjoy your thick lustrous hair as that will soon be sprinkled with bastard grey hairs that when you pull one two more of the little buggers come back to haunt you. Enjoy your Netflix hungover box sets because one day you'll only dream of starting a box set let alone finishing one. Oh, and enjoy your trips to Topshop and Miss Selfridge (errr does that even still exist?!?) as those shopping trips will be replaced with trips to Tesco and Waitrose.
Wild I know. But do you know what enjoy your days girls now as before you know it they will be gone, and gone quicker than a 20 pack of Marlborough Lights and then you'll think of me as you judge those new 20 somethings and hopefully see where I am coming from.