When I was younger I always thought that by the time I was 24 I’d have my shit together and have become the perfect hybrid of Elle Woods and Florence Nightingale: a saint with a sassy attitude and a pink business suit to match. After all I left my mother’s womb when she was 24 and Emma Watson’s younger than me and she’s already achieved world domination. By the age of 24 it becomes much harder to convince people that you’re doing well just by quoting Oscar Wilde or claiming you do things for the ‘experience.’ By the age of 24 you’re an adult and there’s nothing you can do about it.
This weekend I turned 24, and as many of my friends regaled me with various tales of their success I realised that I haven’t achieved anything I set out to do as a teenager. Not only am I poor, single and a couple of pounds overweight but I still haven’t received any tweets from Anna Kendrick or Taylor Swift which makes my dream of us becoming the new Destiny’s Child seem even further away.
In an attempt to be more Emma Stone meets Jennifer Lawrence and less Stig of the Dump chic I’ve decided to make a few adjustments to my life such as reading ‘The Times’ and watching documentaries about saving the penguins. Combine that with switching from white to red wine and I’m basically the modern day Audrey Hepburn. As long I seem like I’ve got it together surely there’s no harm in spending my alone time watching reruns of Cupcake Wars and eating an entire bag of Doritos?