"If growing up means it would be beneath my dignity to climb a tree, I'll never grow up, never grow up, never grow up! Not me!"
Twenty-one seems awfully old when you think about it really, at this age most of our grandparents were at least engaged, if not married, and had houses and lives and were ever so grown up.
I feel torn at the moment, one side of me is aching for progress - to change and grow up and become a grown up with blenders and carpets and estate cars and all those other sort of grown up things that seem to appear as people get older. The other side clings on to childhood comforts with an astounding strength, whispering in my ear that once I am grown up I can no longer splash in puddles with glee, create dens with blankets and eat cereal for dinner.
I truly hope I can have both but I have not seen many grown ups who look like they might enjoy splashing in puddles, or other such lovely pursuits, they look like they would rather be perusing the cabinets section in Focus, or something else wonderfully banal.
I wonder if it would be feasible at all to marry my lovely boyfriend, have a nice job and house but yet act ridiculously young - like have a tree house, or some equally fun sort of hideaway in the back garden.
