Tuesday, 22 June 2010


So I'm chillin' in my Leeds home, watching Tribal Wives. And this poor girl is going on about how her father was never there for her as a child. And here she is now as something of an adult, finding out things about herself, discovering how she feels about her past, and determining how it’s to effect her present and future. Got me thinking.

Got me thinking about the point at which a person is supposed to hang up their dungarees and kickers, and take up their briefcase and shoes that click. The law in the UK states that any individual that is 18 years of age or above shall be considered as an adult. But tbh, my ‘Young Person’s Railcard’ seems be singing a different tune, along with all my other discount insignia and wallet sized identifications. Added with the fact that I often get ID’d when attempting to top up my alcohol stores or enter a 'human sexual display ground' (that’s a nightclub to the laymen – look it up), the juxtaposition of these states of affairs with the fact that I’m probably going to have to buy my first suit and start attending job interviews pretty soon, is somewhat antagonistic. Plus, I really do feel that I’d probably look better in a pair of kickers and a set of dungarees, rather than a suit. Just thought I’d throw that in…

On the day of my first real live 9 – 5-job pay cheque, am I supposed to take down my Dragonball Z poster (yes I own one. And yes, I am proud) and burn my Mickey Mouse hoody (again, yes, I own one, and yes, it is hot)? Furthermore, will the world of work, along with its accessories, actually make me want to do said atrocious acts?

Yeah, I’m over the rhetorical questions too. But like I said, it got me thinking… At 21, most people wouldn’t hesitate to call me an adult. But I can’t help but think that I’m not quite ready yet. Not quite ready for the clicky shoes.

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