Debbie Leigh: Inbetween days
CAN you imagine anything worse than being told – at the end of a long night out – that there's a "sense of maturity" about you and your best mate?
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Being women in our early 30s who had supped a few V&Ts, we of course pulled our most outraged faces then rewrote history to paint ourselves as wounded victims of typical male tactlessness.
We proceeded to tell everyone this new acquaintance had mortally offended us by saying there was a "whiff of maturity" about us, suggesting we were somehow past our best, like a sweaty cheese.
I guess the fact we thought this was hilarious is indicative that poor the bloke in question had got us all wrong – there was actually very little in the way of maturity between us.
But over the past few years I have become aware that I'm moving ever closer to "maturity" or, what I prefer to think of as grown-up-ness.
Don't get me wrong, I've no desire to start playing Sudoku or shopping at Boden, but there have a been a few clues – small but significant – such as switching from Radio 1 to 2, setting up a book club and growing my own veg.
But while tottering at the top of that slippery path down to maturity, I'm still clinging on to my youth – not caring if my black nail varnish gets chipped because despite my age I know shabby chic is totally on-trend.
I realised I'd hit a crossroads the other week when I stood nodding in agreement as a friend told me she preferred not to go out in the week any more because it was just too tiring.
So far, so old, I hear you thinking.
But it was 3am at a Halloween party, she was a bat, I was a horror movie victim and our mates were leaping around to the Ghostbusters theme tune. (Not Jedward's version, I hasten to add.)
We stood there clutching our cocktails, reminiscing about our younger selves when we had first met five years earlier, when we were out every Friday, Saturday and Sunday night, always looking for the next party.
Back then the burning question was always "where are you headed after here?" – now it's more likely to be "how long have you two been together?"
The days (and nights) of spontaneous craziness are not completely gone but are fewer and further between.
I've become a creature of habit.
Teenager
I have a particular side of the bed that I sleep on, an end of the sofa I sit on, and I not only wash my face every night before bed, I even have a quick "tidy up" before heading upstairs – so the house is tidy in the morning.
Having said all that, dumping every outfit on my "floor-drobe" means that by Friday night my bedroom usually looks like a teenager's and if Mr N, chef of the house, is out I tend to feed myself on baked potatoes or cereal, so I guess I still have a way to go before I'm fully grown up.
I feel like an inbetweeny – a "twertie" perhaps – caught between those feckless 20s and house-owning 30s.
Maybe the mid-30s are the new, true "middle-age".
Except instead of heading for a crisis, buying a sports car and dying my hair (well, I do that anyway) I'm loving every minute of it.
In my 20s, exercise was all about burning fat, losing weight, being skinny. At 32 it's about feeling fit and healthy.
I've realised it's no longer about worrying who's got the best body on the beach or who's the most popular in the room, it's about being happy with what you've got.
Crikey, maybe there is a sense of maturity about me these days after all!
You know you're getting old when you:
talk about "the good old days"
consider buying a pair of shoes after seeing Sam Cam wearing them
remember to drink water in between alcoholic drinks
spend half your life in card shops – 30ths, weddings, christenings
think students look young/are annoying
drink wine for the taste rather than to get drunk
think money is better spent on quality work clothes than party frocks
still talk about renting a video instead of a dvd
remember leggings first time round
try to avoid going out on a "school night"
laugh out loud when listening to Radio 2's Radcliffe and Maconie
You know you're still young when you:
often wake up to find a hideous spot on your chin
can't resist buying skyscraper heels
still fall in love/lust with the stars of your fave TV show
regularly add a new name to your list of girl crushes – Leigh Lezark, Olivia Palermo
still get excited about birthdays
love fancy dress parties
swear far more than you should
think loud burps are funny
still think it's funny, hiding from your friends when they leave the room
Just the job for a fashionable friend
REMEMBER the excitement over "the best job in the world"?
Candidates for the role of "paradise island caretaker" in Australia, had to be willing to swim, snorkel, dive and sail.
In return they would pick up 70,000 over six months and live rent-free in a three-bedroom villa, with pool.
It sounded like heaven but they probably wouldn't have let my two cats into the country.
However, if you're more inspired by Versace than views, there's an even better offer on the table.
LetsBuyIt.co.uk wants an intrepid fashionista to tour the world's premier shopping destinations – London, New York, Paris, Milan, Hong Kong, Berlin and Tokyo – find the best deals and detail them online.
Several of my friends would be perfect for the job.
Sadly I'm one of the most indecisive, inefficient shoppers around, so I won't be applying. But if you hear of a well-paid full-time cat-carer role (no litter trays please), do let me know.
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Sunday 12 February 2012
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