I'd be a real grown-up if...

 

I'd be a real grown-up if...
27 March 2014

Just yesterday, I realised yet again, that even though I’m 41, I’m not a proper grown-up.  Not even close.

Oh, I can tick certain boxes.  I have a bank account (mind you – savings only), I’m old enough to open another bank account if I so wish, completed schooling and higher education, I’m married, got kids, I’m a pet owner, got a job, a cell phone, can watch age restricted movies, can sign school reply slips, meet with teachers, listen to the news on the radio, and occasionally watch it on the TV, figure out all on my own without asking another adult how to install something on the computer, do big people stuff like stand in queues and pay bills (yay me…), write letters, end letters with “Kind Regards”, start letters with “To whom it may concern”, buy clothes from the adult section (though technically not always the shoes), wear make-up, say stuff like “when I was your age”, remember a time when there was only white toothpaste, pay for something by swiping my debit card (still feel like the big cheese every time I do it), be the responsible person when packing for a holiday away, make lists, vote, go for coffee, drink if I want to, swear, drive a car, stay up late, etc. etc. etc.

And all in all, I’m not too bad at the grown-up stuff.  When you list it and look at it like that, I’m not doing too shabby.

But it has been highlighted and illuminated to me, that I’m still not quite there.  Not yet an honest-to-goodness bona fide grown-up. 

So exactly how did I come to this realisation?  What made me have this enlightened moment?

Well, it’s fairly simple.  I invited my girlfriends over for supper.  And what with the weather being grotty, fairly cold, and a little bit mizzy, I decided on soup.  We all luuurve soup.  And it’s perfect for a very casual, sit around the table, chatting, laughing and sampling all the varieties on offer, kind of affair.  A very sociable meal, if you like.

I didn’t even mind the fact that I only have one very nice big pot.  And that I had to make three different soups in the same pot.  Washing after each completed soup, before I could start with the next one.  It was a bit annoying, but it was okay.

The problem came in though, when I realised, that I ONLY HAVE ONE VERY NICE BIG POT.  Because what this meant, was that I clearly had a problem, when it came to keeping the soups warm and serving them.

A REAL GROWN-UP WOULD HAVE A SOUP TERRINE!!!

My mom has a soup terrine.  And she’s a grown-up.  My gran has a soup terrine.  And she’s a grown-up.  Most of my friends have soup terrines.  And they’re grown-ups.

Which has led me to this exact moment.  This exact question.  Perhaps I’m not a grown-up yet???

I mean what other stuff can I not do?  Or don’t I have?

I can’t make things grow.  No matter how healthy and lively they might seem when I get them.  Chances are, I WILL kill that poor innocent plant.  I don’t pour over the newspaper, reading it cover to cover.  If my husband didn’t happen to put the news on when watching TV, I wouldn’t watch it either.  I still don’t like Brussel Sprouts.  I don’t have a credit card.  Never owned a cheque book.  Never had an overdraft.  Actually I don’t have any accounts.  I don’t have a personal broker.  Nor policies.  I don’t have a proper cake stand.  I once had a gravy boat for a really short while, but it broke.  I don’t quite understand the difference between kilojoules and calories (think one is energy and the other is food intake?).  Don’t know what the word “annuity” means.  Find golf really boring to watch (shoot me now!).  Still don’t quite have the hang of how our government works (but then again, I’m not entirely convinced they do either).  Always have to think before I say “mange tout” peas – as I know I say it wrong. Time zones confuse me.  I find political debates soul destroyingly dreary.  Actuality programs are dull.   I like art, but I don’t understand it – can’t really tell if something is good or bad.  Still always return my library books late – even if I’ve finished reading them (horrible habit – I usually phone to renew them, but still).  Can’t make tea in a pot.  Can’t park properly.  Never been to a chiropractor (they’re the neck clicking ones, right?).  At best, a hazy grasp of economics.  Can’t understand why they can’t just say gold blocks or bars instead of gold bullion – why the fancy-schmancy?  Complicated cutlery options leave me baffled (I think you go from the outside in).  Not entirely sure what antioxidants are and why they’re so important.  Can’t pronounce “archipelago” – one of my very favourite words, but I never say it right – problem being there are too many options and possible varieties.  Thought I’d miraculously know Geography, location and capital cities when I became a grown-up – well, I’m definitely not there yet.  Would easily be able to convert pounds to rands, inches to metres, feet to centimetres, miles to kilometres, Fahrenheit to Celsius.  Finally be able to judge how much pasta to cook.  I don’t have reading glasses.  Nor do I wear sensible shoes.  Know how to whip up a batch of cookies, straight from my head – no need to consult a recipe book first.  Appreciate the finer things in life – like salmon and caviar.  Develop a love for more mature music. 

Actually this list is hell of a long.  And I haven’t even mentioned it all.  More and more things keep popping up in my head.

Clearly LOTS of stuff still leave me wanting in the adult department.  Find me short of the mark.

Which fills me with great relief.  Phew! 

Plenty time to get there still.  In fact, no rush at all.

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