"What makes you feel old?" I ask my friend. Her response: "Going to uni in September, earning (and spending) my own money, not being able to remember where I've left something, calling teachers by their first names – not as a joke – and them replying, not being ID'd for fags and/or alcohol/Red Bull, and shopping for household goods in Ikea."
This list is scarily accurate, but my friend is only 17. Me? I hit the big 1-8 last year and so, in the eyes of the law, I am officially an adult. I know it's strange, but I'm scared of getting older – or, more specifically, the responsibility age brings. I can't clean and barely know how to cook, but I voted in the last election and pay tax on the money I earn at weekends. How does that work?
Even the fact my mum doesn't say anything when I get home late any more upsets me – I want her to worry. Of course, I can't take care of myself; she still books my doctor's appointments. Now I have finished my A-levels, it's even worse; education = youth, finished education = elderly. Thank goodness for uni and another three years of not growing up.
