My Age Is Probably A Health And Safety Risk

So nearly everyone I know now has a combination of any of these three things: a job, a drivers license, and a an email from a university telling them they have a conditional offer. I have none of these things. That's a lie, I have two jobs, but both of them routinely forget that I exist. I have never had a driving lesson, so it's pretty clear where that's going, and I didn't apply to uni this year, because for some reason I feel the need to stay at home for another year, crying and clutching bank statements to my chest. That's what most people do on a gap year, right? (Note, gap YEAR, not YARH.) 

So, point being, a week from today, I will be eighteen. That's like, big numbers. I will be old. I will be a "grown up", what ever that is. I seem to have convinced myself that on my birthday I will magically grow three inches, and the added height is what will make me gain responsibility. I have decided, I am not ready to grow up yet. However, in my eighteen (nearly) eighteen years of life, I have accomplished some things. I can:

• Treat a cat for fleas
• Do the the basic steps for a Charleston and a waltz
• Fix a bookcase using a complex balancing system
• Put on a duvet cover without getting trapped inside it for half an hour
• Send a text while going at speed on a horse
• Change a light bulb
• Do a cartwheel with one hand
• Write a semi-decent short story
• Fit inside my kitchen cupboard for an emergency hiding space
• Make really nice cake

I cannot fill a dishwasher properly, sew on a button, order anything in a restaurant without panicking, or have  a faux-cheerful conversation with a hairdresser but I think I have enough to be getting on with. 

In other news...

Look, punks and cats!

This song is very important