Devilishly good by name, devilishly good by nature. Cooties, frankly, rawks.
Archives - July 2000
Devilishly good by name, devilishly good by nature. Cooties, frankly, rawks.
Meg and Tom, both 28, have been talking about how their expectations of growing older have changed, and how life now is in many ways vastly different from where they thought they’d be by now:
I don’t have any kids, I’m not even married, and I always thought I’d be married and have kids by the time I was 29. And my books, the books I’d always thought I’d write, not even one is done yet!
{Meg}
The run-up to my birthday was very much one of those times when you look around you and think to yourself – “what have I achieved?”, “why do I bother?”. This is pretty much run of the mill stuff, except that this year I started thinking about questions like – “why am I alone?”
{Tom}
Being on the hen weekend was a bizarre experience, not only because I was the youngest by far, and one of the few singletons, but because here were girls who, though a few years older, weren’t miles away from my own situation, yet they were getting married (or at least in serious coupledom). Though come October, I’ll be back to being a student, this year I’ve been living in my own flat, working a 9-5 job at a large media company, and doing all the usual ‘grown-up’ type things – so in many respects, there was little discernible difference between myself and the girls I was out with. Yet I can’t imagine being 25 and engaged. As in a house, a ring, a husband, a dress and all that jazz. They’re all blissfully happy, and I wish them all the luck in the world, but it’s so not how I can imagine myself at that age. When talking to my friends on the ‘where will we be in 10 years time’ topic, I’ve always envisaged that if I do ever do the marriage and kids thing, it sure as hell isn’t going to be before I’m at least thirty. Frankly, the very idea of being in that kind of situation in just seven years time – the age the bride is now – terrifies me. My friends joke that for all my protestations to the contrary, they reckon I’ll be Mrs Somebody before my thirtieth birthday, if only as a pure twist of fate and an I-told-you-so. Ask me in a few years time who was right…
Meg and Tom, both 28, have been talking about how their expectations of growing older have changed, and how life now is in many ways vastly different from where they thought they’d be by now:
I don’t have any kids, I’m not even married, and I always thought I’d be married and have kids by the time I was 29. And my books, the books I’d always thought I’d write, not even one is done yet!
{Meg}
The run-up to my birthday was very much one of those times when you look around you and think to yourself – “what have I achieved?”, “why do I bother?”. This is pretty much run of the mill stuff, except that this year I started thinking about questions like – “why am I alone?”
{Tom}
Being on the hen weekend was a bizarre experience, not only because I was the youngest by far, and one of the few singletons, but because here were girls who, though a few years older, weren’t miles away from my own situation, yet they were getting married (or at least in serious coupledom). Though come October, I’ll be back to being a student, this year I’ve been living in my own flat, working a 9-5 job at a large media company, and doing all the usual ‘grown-up’ type things – so in many respects, there was little discernible difference between myself and the girls I was out with. Yet I can’t imagine being 25 and engaged. As in a house, a ring, a husband, a dress and all that jazz. They’re all blissfully happy, and I wish them all the luck in the world, but it’s so not how I can imagine myself at that age. When talking to my friends on the ‘where will we be in 10 years time’ topic, I’ve always envisaged that if I do ever do the marriage and kids thing, it sure as hell isn’t going to be before I’m at least thirty. Frankly, the very idea of being in that kind of situation in just seven years time – the age the bride is now – terrifies me. My friends joke that for all my protestations to the contrary, they reckon I’ll be Mrs Somebody before my thirtieth birthday, if only as a pure twist of fate and an I-told-you-so. Ask me in a few years time who was right…
