When I am a grown up…

It’s funny isn’t it, what you think you will be like as a grown up.  But (and here’s the big thing), how do you know when you are a grown up? What are your own personal goals that in your mind need to be reached, ticked off, achieved in order to truly qualify as a fully functioning grown up?!

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When I was younger, unintentionally I came up with a little mental check sheet that if I hark back to now gives me an insight into what I felt needed to be, in order for me personally to say I was a grown up. I find that even now there are certain things which I hadn’t even considered when I was younger but that now stick out blatantly to me. So here goes.

 

What a grown up eats.

To me a crucial part of being a fully functioning grown up was the ability to eat olives. Not something that before the age of 20 I would have even acknowledged. But, one day there we were in a fancy little bar and a friend of Hubs (who at this point in time was still boyfriend) began eating these bitter non see-through butch versions of a grape. He didn’t preference green over black, just got stuck in. We all nibbled away and at that moment knowing I didn’t like them  I decided I would make myself!! Stupid? Daft? Probably! But I wanted to like them. They seemed cool, chic, classy. And so as the years progressed I persevered…and now I can’t pass a deli without pondering which olive concoction to buy. Que Record Breakers tune ‘dedications what you neeeeed, if you want to be an olive eeeeat-eeeer’. (mentally- so far from being a grown up!)

 

What a grown up wears.

Now this one has evolved over the years due to fluctuations in fashion. Right now, my little mind tells me that for a day to day look/casual I can’t go wrong with a pair of Converse, skinny jeans and a slouchy top. (it’s the dancer in me, we’re always drawn to a slouchy/bearing one shoulder top!) I’ve almost achieved this. However I must confess to opting for Sainsburys own Converse-esque shoes due to Mum-budget-contraints! I still feel they work though!

I am dabbling with proper red lippy too and on a recent night out one of my gorgeous Mum lasses, we’ll call her Runner Mum, brought hers with her. We had to have a few drinks inside us before we dared to go full siren red and to top it all off she even had a bottle of Rimmel Lipstick Lock (yes from our teens a good *cough years ago!). Well, I might jut like to say here that we rocked that red so much so that the other 4 girls in our group all decided to pout up and stain their lips too! Although, they didn’t opt for the Lipstick Lock and by the end of the night both mine and Runner Mum’s lip colour was still prefecto! Even after gin, prosecco, popcorn and chocolate! Get in!

When I come to an evening out, I do find I still plump firmly for the ‘jeans and a top’ scenario. And I’m not alone! The majority of my other Mum friends always come back with the same reply to my frenzied getting ready for a night out message… ‘What are you wearing?!’ It’s a stock reply isn’t it? It’s safe, it’s practical it’s still socially acceptable (isn’t it?!) it’s effort without effort I suppose! How would love to rock up in the jumpsuit Claudia wore on Strictly a few weeks back. Gorgeous Claude. Or as I like to call her Claude-geous. She is my grown up wardrobe aspiration. That stunning tuxedo- satin trim jumpsuit. Again Mum-budget takes hold so if Halston Heritage want a brand ambassador then please think of me, a former dancer with fantastic posture!! (Blatant plea I know but if you don’t ask…)

And there rather deftly I move onto…

 

What grown ups say.

Phrases I find myself saying that matriarchs within my family have used time and time again. Witty comebacks that raise you up in the banter stakes. Sarcastic retorts that when used correctly can intentionally silence a room. Still working on those!

Also here I’d like to briefly mention terms of endearment. Some I am totally fine with such as ‘Lovely’, ‘Sweets’, ‘Gorgeous’. One that I cannot abide to be called or to use is ‘Hun/Hon’. It makes my lip curl and my nose crinkle just thinking about saying it. Never good in my book to sneer when actually meaning to be cutesy. I think it’s also to do with it starting with an ‘H’. An ‘aych. A hay-ch. A hu. It’s an odd letter at the best of times; somewhat of a personality crisis ‘hmm am I a vowel or a consonant today? Do I need an ‘an’ or an ‘a’ to preceed me? Let’s see who I can grammatically trip up!’

 

What grown ups drink.

Red wine.

Red.

Wine.

Red.

 

I have safely stuck with white and rosé for many many a moon. Although I am partial to a nice beer or cider….or snakebite and black (Devon girl and proud- don’t judge me!) I really want to crack the sophistication of the classy red.

I have struggled with this one. Having only ever found a red wine I liked whilst at a friend’s barn party with a BYOB invite it goes without saying that by the time I realised I did actually like it I could not find the bottle to read what the hell it actually was (plus I was slightly tipsy so even if I had found the bottle I would clearly not have remembered it the following morning. This event predates the all singing and dancing mobile phones with camera abilities.)

And so in more recent years I have regularly supped friends’ vinos in the hope to re-find this lost bottle. It hasn’t worked. Until now. In the past month I have found 2 bottles which are palatable! I have not pulled ‘that face’. You know the one. The face that you’d pull if there was an electric eel in hobnail boots tap dancing on your teeth. I just haven’t pulled it! I feared I might but its like a moment of light piercing through a cloud; there is no nasty vinegar taste. Haaaaa-ley-loooya!!

 

What a grown up does

Now this is really rather specific and I am so far away from ever achieving this one that I feel I am not a fully fledge grown up.  The dressing table. I dream of the day when I can nonchalantly sit at a dressing table, silk robe floating in the breeze from the slightly ajar window, air scented by lavender, jasmine and roses from my cottage garden. I sit there and brush my hair, brushes and combs all housed within their own designated drawer. I puff perfume from one of those bottles . Those bottles which have a little puff ball at the end of a long tube. Pfft. Pfft. I reach for my makeup, again housed within its own little drawer and apply with beautiful postural alignment whilst peering into the backlit mirror.

Yeeeeeaaah. Like I said, this one has zilcho chance of getting me on my grown up list. I am still the girl who sits cross legged on the floor in front of the mirror in my favourite old dance trackies and Miami dolphins t-shirt circa 1997. Hair dryer and other electrical hair related items stored in an old footstool which is buried under clothes (at least I have somehow managed to avoid the whole floordrobe scenario in this whole debacle!), the brushes are in a small drawer behind me, hair products are in the bathroom which prompt me to get up off the floor at least 3 times to retrieve whichever one it is have once again forgotten. Make up is in an old pencil case in the bathroom window. The eyeliner is beyond even qualifying as a stub.

Quite clearly I have a long way to go before I achieve my own predetermined status as a grown up.

 

But, hey ho, I got ID’d when buying that latest bottle of red so its not all bad right?!!

Who wants to be a grown up anyhoo?

*pulls on scruffy Miami Dolphins t-shirt (which by the way as it’s from 1997 when I was dancing, has had the neck cut out therefore rendering it a slouchy-bare-one-shoulder-top) squirts some CK1 randomly about person, hops downstairs through kitchen, pops  a lemon rind and basil infused olive in mouth, mumbles TTFN to the fam, slips into the fake Converse and heads to Co-Op to buy her fave bottle of red.

The Aloha Mummy 🌺

 

 

 

 

 

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