I’m insanely jealous of two people: Head of the Medicine Department and Peter Pan. Medicine HOD because he can actually
f*ck screw with people, and have his own way all the time, and people still listen to him like he were Optimus Prime or something, and Peter Pan, because he never effing grows up.
I might be suffering from the Peter Pan syndrome. Even though I’m an adult female and I know squat about pop psychology.
See, I go crazy times crazy when my birthday approaches. Why, you ask? I’m approaching the wrinkles, the joint pains, and probable bed-pan moments so, how am I supposed to be happy about it, huh? And oh, the nightmare of having more candles than cake on your birthday cake!!!
Have you ever looked at the balloon guy at the park and wanted to be two again? Watched kids chase each other and sighed wistfully? Wanted to eat without having people stare at you because you’d given yourself a chocolate mustache?
I miss all of it. I want all of it. If you want to get me a birthday present, take me back in time.
It was the best – living in a bubble of innocence. When the only four letter word meant “love” – the uncomplicated kind.
“I love Daddy.”
“I love chcocolate milk.”
“I love you, Taffy.”
Taffy being your childhood pet. Or your imaginary friend, who would someday be a mural on your wall.
Why this wishful thinking now, you wonder? I was at the store, buying myself some anti-wrinkle cream and sunscreen – yes, for myself – and then this kid trotted in, holding her Mum’s hand – and they got baby shampoo and I couldn’t help thinking, Dude, I miss that.
No, not the baby shampoo – the holding hands with a parent and walking that way. Get serious here, I’m trying to talk!
Remember the times you could get away with wearing strappy little dresses, the straps falling off and people would go, Aww she’s so cute? The freckles that never were anything but a additive on your cuteness. The mass of unruly curls that looked pretty. And nobody would say you were having a bad hair day?
I want to go back to all that. Being a kid. All over again. Now that I’m hitting 24, I’m freaking out. “Freaking out” doesn’t even come close to summing it up – this, how I feel.
Soon, I’ll be expected to have little Sooches. How do I handle kiddies, when I can’t even cross the road on my own? I’m jealous of Peter Pan – he never has to go through the pangs of growing up, the transition into adulthood is something he’s never gonna have to face, he doesn’t have to deal with puberty and secret heartaches. Doesn’t have to give in to peer pressure. Nobody makes fun of his crazy outfit – there was this one time I wore green and people said, Woman, you look like a effing tree. He doesn’t have to worry about body-image, adult acne, mood swings, binge eating. Which I have to. How crappy is that?
Need I say more? Growing up sucks literal bananas.
I wish I were Peter Pan!
Sometimes I hate Disney for all the things he’s put me through. People who won’t grow up. Princesses with hair like that. Guys with chins so chiseled, you could cut diamonds with them. *sigh*