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Love being an adult


Enid Blyton painted an idyllic picture of childhood: all chocolate biscuits and lashings of ginger beer presented by an unquestioning and fast-retreating mother who understood you were knackered from a day of adventuring up a tree and probably wanted to be fed nice things and left alone. And then there was the real-life under-10 childhood. The one where you weren’t allowed to get down from the table till you’d finished your over-chewy pork chops – even if your wishing chair was budding impatient leg-wings in your bedroom while you were gagging on the gristle.

But, oh, how soon we forget.

Nearly two decades of being told when to brush your teeth, when to go outside, who to talk to when you get there, what to say to them, how to apologise when you get it wrong, who to kiss (aunties) and who not to kiss (BOYS), all culminate in three predictable events: a massive 18th, a huge key to freedom, and an almighty cry of what will be a life-long fist-shaking lament to the gods: “Why can’t I be a kid again?!”
Well, I’m here to deliver the divine and paraphrased answer: “Because a) You have breasts (which, incidentally, is awesome). And b) Because being a kid sucks (sux even, ’cos kids can’t even spell)”.

Yeah, alright, granted: the childhood period sported an attractive lack of phone, utility and credit card bills. And cellulite and messy break-ups. And your mum probably did your washing and called in sick for you. But your life was not your own. And in the right hands, a life can be a pretty good possession to have in the pantry for when friends come round.

I know, being a grown-up is hard. You have to make your own decisions and kill your own spiders and assorted other things. Adulthood can feel like being involuntarily enlisted to fight a war so daunting some are willing to get married at 18 just to avoid being drafted. But I think we forget what we’re fighting for here. It’s the thing we’re always fighting for here. Your freedom, motherflickah!

The freedom to stay up finishing a whole book in one night, and the freedom to grump through the next day unjudged for it. The liberty to have a person of the male variety in your bedroom with the door closed without someone pretending to fold washing in the next room. The freedom to do whatever you want – including eating chocolate biscuits with ginger beer for dinner, leaving half of it unfinished if you feel so inclined.

Come on. Did Kate Sheppard march 19th Century Street for nothing? Do prisoners gnash at the bars of their cells for the melodic enjoyment of it? Well, then. Don’t make me get all Martin Luther King on you.

I have a dream. That one day this nation will rise up and all the little children will be set free from the cheek-burning agony of mothers who discuss their advanced puberty with their friends right in front of them. I have a dream. And it’s called “adulthood”.


Love being a kid?

OK, so it could be that you’re not big on freedom. But have you poor sufferers of early-stage nostalgia forgotten how embarrassing it was to be a child? Yes, the same shameful stuff still happens now – but when you get a rooted haircut these days you can demand a redo. And money off your next cut. Back then you stood in the school hallway while your mum went into the classroom ahead of you to explain why you’re feeling a bit embarrassed today and to ask your peers not to laugh at you when you came in.

“But the fun!” I hear you wail, poring over your yellowing kindy photos. “The school discos! The sandcastles!” Yeah, look, that was all good stuff. But do you know what’s better? Going out dancing all night, then straight from the club to a picnic at the beach – bypassing the mum at the gate waiting to take you home to bed by at least a decade.

Yes, it was fun to race home from your friend’s house, falling on your face in your bid to make dinner on time. But FUN is cruising home from your mate’s when you feel like it to eat grapes and doughnuts for dinner, washed down with milk straight out of the carton.

Which all sounds a bit unhealthy, doesn’t it? No wonder you’re pining after the time when you had someone to look after you. Well, this is where I have to ask (stop reading here, Mum): how well were you looked after back then, really? Crying got you an ice-cream. Birthdays were stock-standard McDonald’s affairs. As was every Friday night. When you went out for dinner your parents ordered themselves a fillet-of-something and the kiddie’s meal of nuggets a-la-mystery meat for you. And when you were thirsty? Plenty of cordial in the tap.


The bright side of being an adult

These days, yes, you can have your cake and eat it all too – and no one will be there telling you that you’ll be sick if you do. But another great thing about adulthood is you’re in touch with your body; you know when you’ve had too much cake. So, instead of sitting at the table piling another un-needed meal on top of your other sugary indiscretions, eating every last bit so you can have the bribed dessert, you do something to balance things out. Like go for a run, or swap the doughnut-and-grapes for grapes. In the
bath. Before having a nice early night at a time of your own choosing. Say, 9.37pm.

The next day, if still not feeling physically wonderful, you have the adult know-how to hunt, gather and cook yourself a healthy gourmet meal. Which you may very well eat by candlelight. Cos no one’s going to yell at you that you’ll burn the house down. Because you can be trusted to actually not burn the house down. And because you agree with L’Oreal on one thing – after 18 years of that listening to that tagline, yes – you’re absofrickinglutely worth it.

Gena Tuffery is a writer and the founding member of Adults Against Reminiscing Girlhood (AARGH)


===3 movies to make you feel glad you’re old(er)===


Young Adult
Sure, sometimes the humdrum of domesticity grinds you down. But Diablo Cody’s feel-bad tale of 37-year-old divorcee Mavis (Charlize Theron) guzzling Diet Coke for breakfast and chasing her unobtainable college boyfriend will make you feel relieved to go home to your mature life.

Kidulthood
A queasy ride through a teenage world of bullying, glue sniffing, unwanted pregnancy, screaming matches and stealing. There may be less bills and wrinkles but being 15 was no picnic either.

Heathers
High school student Veronica (Winona Ryder) is so desperate to fit in with the popular crowd that she puts up with humiliation and eating disorders and eventually has to resort to murdering them. Far easier to passive aggressively screen people’s calls these days.

ADULTHOOD = FREEDOM = HAPPINESS
One of the best things about adulthood is the freedom your 21st key unlocks. Recent studies have found personal liberty to be the biggest smile-inducer – even more so than wealth (and kids aren’t exactly rolling in that either). A 2011 study in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology analysed the findings of three studies of more than 420,000 people from 63 countries, and found personal independence and freedom to be the most important for wellbeing.

And research analysed by Jacobs University Bremen, Germany, and the University of Michigan, US, in 2008, where more than 350,000 people from 90 countries were quizzed on their happiness, found individual freedoms and capabilities were the most important factors. So, um, how happy do those “It’s time for bed/dinner/visiting Aunty Dot” memories make you now?