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Things we will never have to do again

There are definite advantages to “growing-up”. Like all those things you will probably never ever have to do again. Such as…

Writing an essay

Imagine for a second you have to write an essay. Without Google. With pen and paper. And evidence supported by at least three sources, over at least three sides. Because now your wrist begins to hurt after one Christmas card. And your handwriting is illegible. And your brain focus is banana.

Passing a driving test

Hell, even taking a driving lesson (although you could probably do with them TBH) would be humiliating. But remember doing roundabouts for the first time, and that backwards parking round the corner manoeuvre that always ended up with you beaching the car on the curb and which you have never ever done since. And your father getting increasingly stressed as you kept failing and the BSM bills mounted up.

Pretending to like Pret sushi

Apparently it’s better now, like nice even, but you are scarred. That cold, cold rice. *shudders*

Watching Halloween or Nightmare on Elm Street

And trying to be cool because you are sitting with someone’s hot older brother and he thought it was a good idea to watch a horror film. Now you watch Stranger Things with your hands over your eyes begging, “Is it over, is it over?” and you feel absolutely fine about that.

Dialling a landline and getting someone’s parents

This still very occasionally happens. You can report that it is still mortifying. Your ‘talking to grown-ups voice’…

Sitting a Maths exam

Even the torture of a tax return can’t compete with the nightmare of finishing your maths paper two hours early – not because you were a Beautiful Mind brilliant but because you had quite spontaneously reached your maths capacity and couldn’t answer any of the questions.

Being a bridesmaid

I mean it would just be absurd, wouldn’t it? It was bad enough at the time…

Standing in the West End, drunk and freezing, praying for a cab in the rain

Yes we know Uber is bad, bad, bad but so was being stranded in Soho in the pouring rain slightly pissed and a little broken-hearted with a lot of other people aggressively waving their arms in the air trying to get a black cab.

Thinking about Little Prince Harry

No more looking at PH and conjuring up that devastating image of him as a child walking behind his mother’s coffin – instead it’s all roasting chickens and playing naked twister and laughing with dazzling Meghan. Oh God, the relief.

Having that first Brazilian wax

Oh, you went in so innocent, because everyone else was doing it, so how painful could it be? And holy Jesus fuck this can’t be actually happening? Is this really a thing? And you wanted to cry but you were in the Elizabeth Arden Red Door spa and you were worried that they’d tell on you.

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