I have spent many of the last few days wishing I was a teenager again. Between the ages of 13-16. Remember when we collected cassettes (yes, cassettes! Not CD’s or downloaded torrents) of BSB, and Blue and all that? Remember when the height of makeup was Bonne Belle Lip Smackers or being allowed to use our mother’s castoffs? Remember listening to older friends or reminiscent relatives telling us of their wild college days, which whooshed past them in a haze of alcoholic smoked up glory? They would tell us wisely, with that wistful look on their faces, “Enjoy it your childhood while it lasts, you’ll regret letting it slip by once you get older” And while you nodded politely, inside your head you’d scream, “I WANT TO BE OLDER ALREADY!”
And then older happens. You turn 18. And you think, “Well, this isn’t so bad.” Then you turn 20, and something starts creeping up inside you. And then a few days before you turn 21, and you’re reading Diaryface rhapsodise about spending a yay afternoon bopping to Blue, you think, “Oh my Lord, too fast, Im getting older too friggin fast, and I let my teeny bopper years slip by wishing I were older”
I used to laugh at SS, who used to sit down and tell me seriously how becoming older was a depressing thing. I used to ask her, “Honestly, dude, entering your 20’s ISNT a bad thing, how could you possibly feel old?” And she’d tell me ominously, “Just you wait, Kyra Mathews. When your turn comes, you’ll understand.” My turn is coming and she was right. Apart from looking much older than my teeny bopper self, I feel older, which is much worse.
I don’t need to wait for MommyMathews to give me her discarded makeup anymore. It’s reached a stage where she ransacks MY makeup drawer. I don’t listen to teeny bopper bands anymore, and on the off-chance that I hear them somewhere, on the radio or in the mall, I’ll sigh reminiscently and say, “I remember a time when I was obsessed with this band!” I, now tell younger friends and relatives to enjoy their youth and to wallow in it, and I shush them impatiently when they tell me infuriately, “But I cant wait to turn 21 and LEGAL!”
The worst part is, you think you have TIME. And while I hate to bust bubbles, the truth is, you don’t. There is barely any time at all, and I shudder to think of myself at 30, (which will come faster than I’d like to admit) worrying about things like mortgages and electricity bills and taxes and gas prices. I shudder to think about the day I find my first grey hair, and I’d like to think of more pleasant things, like the time I wore my first pair of heels, bought my first lipstick, ordered my own beer, bought my first pack of cigarettes and it seems so long ago, I feel older than ever.
I hate it when SS is right.