Realising that youâve become a grown-up without noticing is somewhat unnerving.
When I look in the mirror, I still see the teenage me; admittedly, this reflection has become somewhat squidgier and crinklier in recent years, but I donât see a sensible person. This is perhaps misguided, given the whole being married/having a baby/doing two jobs scenario, but hey, thatâs real life for you.
You know that scene in Peep Show where Jeremy is panicking about having the plumber round because âhe might realise Iâm not properâ? Thatâs pretty much my outlook on life â itâs one long stream of charlatan acts, with the Sword of Damocles hanging over me, waiting to strike down when somebody spots that Iâm just pretending to be a grown-up.
I actually have no idea what being an adult entails, and it seems like everybody else knows what theyâre doing, so I just keep my head down. Shhh. Itâs our secret.
Still, there are signs of adulthood here. Little things that creep into reality that, when you step back and take a broader view, you realise that youâve been doing for some time. Things that your parents did when you were a kid, and you were convinced that youâd never have any interest in.
I remember the first time I tasted a gin & tonic. We were on holiday in France, and I took a sip of my mumâs drink thinking it was my glass of lemonade. I was wrong. It was not. It was, in fact, an evil beverage of unfathomable bitterness. Why on earth would anybody choose to drink such a repulsive thing?
I was flabbergasted. I questioned the validity of a number of my motherâs decisions at that point. I mean, come on â if sheâs unhinged enough to drink something as godawful as that for pleasure, what else could she have been wrong about?
No, obviously it was me who was wrong. Never question your mother, sheâs almost certainly right.
My teen years saw a dawning realisation of the merits of gin, largely born of that teenage necessity to get drunk on whateverâs nearby, regardless of provenance. The more you drink gin, the more you grow to like it. Iâm a big fan now. It was worth persevering with it.
Much like with gin, I found it hard to understand why grown-ups should wish to drink something so tongue-curlingly bitter. Sure, coffee smells delicious, but it tastes awful and makes your breath stink. Whatâs the point?
They were my initial thoughts, at least. I drink coffee every day now. The increasing prevalence of high street coffee chains suggests Iâm not alone in this. And the fact that my bus to work in the mornings is generally full of schoolkids whoâve picked up a McCoffee on the way tells me that todayââs youth have leapfrogged the âurgh, itâs so bitter!â step entirely, bless âem.
3. Watching the evening news
Oh, boring. Who cares about that, when thereâs a repeat of Whose Line Is It Anyway on Channel 4? Why are we watching this, dad? Iâm eleven, I donât care about the AIDS crisis or an embassy siege, I want to watch Greg Proops improvising with a suggestively-shaped piece of foam.
Actually, the ten oâclock news is pretty well-timed for me these days. I watch it before I go to bed, it neatly rounds off the evening. Yes, Iâm 31 and I go to bed at 10:30 on weekdays. Shut up, Iâve got a toddler.
When youâre at school, you spend the whole week counting down the hours until itâs the weekend â a time of no obligations or commitments, when you can just do what the hell you want and enjoy being young and carefree. So when a parent informs you that youâre going to spend a whole hour of your weekend at the local supermarket, your heart sinks. No, not sinks, plummets.
How incredibly, mind-numbingly tedious. There is literally no joy whatsoever to be derived from tramping around a slightly cold shop when you could be climbing trees, building model kits or watching cartoons. Even the momentary amusement of putting random grocery items in the trolley is quashed by the inevitability of said items being spotted and discarded. Yawn. Grump.
âŠbut of course, as a grown-up, you have to buy food or youâll die.
Thankfully itâs the twenty-first century, so you donât actually have to go out into the real world and interact with the public, you can just get Ocado to bring it to your door. So that actually doesnât feel particularly grown up at all.
5. Buying things with no discernible element of fun
Light bulbs. Toothpaste. Fuses. Cling film.
Being an adult means you have to spend your money on things that will bring you no tangible pleasure whatsoever. Sticky plasters? Smoke alarms? Contents insurance? Growing up sucks. You canât play with any of those things.
6. Buying cheap clothes, even though you donât have to
Clothes seem pretty important when youâre a child. Part of this is down to our school uniform culture. When you have a non-uniform day, itâs like a fashion parade.
As an aside, hereâs a story. Until the age of eight, I attended a tiny little primary school in Greatham, Hampshire where my dad was the headmaster. It was a fun place with a strong community spirit, and a couple of times a year weâd have something called âsilly clothes dayâ, where instead of wearing your uniform (which was pretty cool in itself â the jumpers said âGreatham is Greatâ in big red letters) youâd come to school in as silly an outfit as possible.
We moved to Herne Bay in 1990, and my new primary school was rather grittier. The first non-uniform day they had, I turned up in the silliest outfit I could cobble together. Everyone else was flaunting their Air Max and their Adidas shellsuits. I was a laughing stock. But hey, Iâm largely over it now.
The point is, I grew into a bit of a trainer geek in my teenage years and, being a basketball fan, always coveted the latest Air Jordans. I knew that Iâd be able to buy them one day; I kept pointlessly asking for a pair, always expecting the answer to be ânoâ, in the knowledge that when I was an adult Iâd be able to buy all the Air Jordans I wanted.
Iâve still never owned any. Whatâs the point of paying ÂŁ130 for a pair of trainers? That can pay the Sky bill for two months and still leave enough for a takeaway.
7. Choosing cheese over dessert
This, to a child, seems utterly barmy. Youâre in a restaurant, poring over the dessert menu, torn between the banoffee pie and the chocolate fudge sundae, trying to figure out some kind of bargaining tactic so that you can get both. Your saliva glands are going into overdrive at the prospect of that sweet, sugary mass of goop that will soon be gumming your lips together and filling your belly like a sucrose football.
âŠand then your dad opts for the cheeseboard. Er, what the fuck?
You want to eat cheese instead of having a pudding? Whatâs wrong with you? Iâm starting to question your choices too now, dad.
Kids are dumb, arenât they? Cheese is amazing.
Christ, it seems I really am a grown-up. That enchanted portrait in the attic is doing fuck all.
JuicyPips, direct from the mind of @denialvibes, is published weekly.
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