I am yet again struggling to come to grips with my number and by that I mean how many birthdays I’ve had. I won’t call it age because that holds negative connotations. The problem I am having was highlighted last weekend by a visit from the Boyf’s niece; a young lady who I prefer to think of as my cousin as obviously I am far too young (immature/irresponsible) to be of an age where I might be an aunty to a 15 year old.
I don’t mind being Aunty to my 2 year old and 3 year old niece and nephew – I’ve accepted that. However, they are teeny, tiny, wee people. My two year old niece does not, for example, wear the same style skinny jeans as I do, she does not wear higher heels than I have ever worn, she does not wear black eyeliner every day and she most certainly does not have bigger boobs than me. Sadly this causes me to behave as though we were more of an age to be friends, of course the folly in this is that I am frequently reminded when she is around of just how much older I have become without really noticing.
Having said all that I still wouldn’t swap being 34 for being 15, sure they seem a lot more confident than I did at that age, but they still can’t get served in pubs and probably believe having spots is the worst thing that could happen to them of a weekend. Just wait till they’re still getting them post 30, I think they’ll discover life’s too short to worry about it.
