There is a Thief on Quality Street…

Picture the scene.

It’s 11th August, the eve of my 19th birthday… I, like most teenagers on a slow, Saturday afternoon, am sitting before my laptop, my thoughts torn between my next mission in Tuscany in Assassins Creed II and what shoes would best match my jeans for a party I was going to that night…

When a tentative knock on my front door disturbs my reverie!

Who should make waves in my proverbial pond of ponderings??…

Picture next, me, rising from my throne (kitchen chair) alighting to the grand entrance (front porch) with all the good grace of an arthritic penguin (a teenager in a penguin onesie being made to move when they would rather stay seated). But instead of some visitor, what should i find on my doorstep –

A TIN OF QUALITY STREET!!

That’s right; a tin of Quality Street, complete with blue ribbon and a beautiful birthday card from my 80-something year old neighbour, as a one-day-early birthday present.

Now, kind reader, you would be forgiven for thinking that this is a happy tale. It is not.

Because when I sat down to peruse the chocolately box of faux-gems, I noticed something peculiar – the distracting lack of colour to be seen…

Of all the yummies contained within that attractively rich looking tin, there were two colours that were noticeable mainly by their absence – the iconic, Big Purple One and the Big Green Triangle; where on earth were they!?

I searched that entire box and in all of it, only found one Big Green Triangle and only two Big Purple Ones!!

Considering the purple ones are my mums favourite, you can imagine the disappointment… And that Green One I had (before I realised it was the only one!!) was one of the yummiest pralines I think I have ever had.

And so this regaling tale ends. With me, a 19 year old unable to provide my mum with her favourite sweets through a saddening and distinctly random shortfall from ™. Luckily my dad’s favourite is the Toffee Finger or else we’d really be having problems…

Then again, I do love the Strawberry Creme ones… and those Orange Cremes, too… and the Caramel Cups are delicious… and so are…

Ok, so the tin is not a total loss, but c’mon! They are two of the iconic chocs, the ones that are instantly recognizable! And some little sweetie thief has gone and hand-picked them away from me! Tis a lamentable tale, to be sure.

Nestlé, take better care in your delivering of treats, to avoid disappointing a poor, innocent 19 year old on her birthday, and shattering her dreams of a rainbow-foil-filled field crunching under her, as she sits, surrounded by empty wrappers. Because a rainbow-foil-filled field is not a rainbow foil-filled field if it is missing purple and green. In fact, it’s hardly a field at all. More just a bit of a mess, really.

Ah well. It was my birthday, so I’ll be damned if I’m the one clearing up that particular mess!!

As for the empty cider bottles…

😉 😛

SSDD

What do you call this, Nestle??

The Curse of the 19 Year Old: Panic Freedom

Ok, so I think I have a problem.

The other day was my 19th birthday.

NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THAT MEANS I’M PROPERLY OLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY CRUEL WORLD, WHYYYYYYYYYY!?!?!?!?!?!?

Kidding, I don’t really care about getting old. 😀 It’s more the fear that a chapter of my life has now closed, that era which could still conceivably still be called childhood is no longer. It doesn’t mean that I have to suddenly shrug off my Invisibility Cloak (that tatty rag I used for Halloween when I was eight) and pull on that Robe of responsibility (a bra), but it is something to consider.

Age is not a garment, it cannot be measured in appearance. I think that, for the important things at least, age is a state of mind.

And my state of mind now; confused. Here’s why.

I always considered 19 year olds to have something over their peers. I don’t know what it is but a 19 year old in my eyes seemed to have a freedom and a rebellion that came from being that age; too old for the newly-legally-novelty to still really influence your actions, but not old enough yet that you feel any actual responsibility for your life or your future. Like there is still a sheen of total abandonment coating everything and a flavour of good ol’ “I’m too young to die” in every puff of suspiciously scented cig.

(if you get the reference hidden in there, props to my fellow AR fans… keeping the youth alive… and the movie sequel dream… :P)

In fact, I thought quite the opposite: I felt that a 19 year old was stuck in a place almost of panic, right before you turn into an actual, glorified adult, no longer able to claim it was teenage hormones that made that bad decision, that it was all down to a learning curve, that living excessively was all part of being young. I think it is that fear that makes a 19 year old seem to me one of the most hectic and volatile creatures in existence.

Imagine; one day it is all partying, no consideration, the next – you’re 20, the same laws that once ruled you are literally irrelevant, getting away with a child ticket is no longer merely “a push” but laughable. Using “only when I’m drunk” as an excuse won’t work – who has the time when you have to be up so early for work?!

Maybe life doesn’t stop at 20, even if it does start at 50. But from the shenanigans I’ve seen from some of those 19 year olds in the past, I’m not willing to take that chance.

So, I’m guessing that this year might have some surprises in store. Nothing that I can predict at the moment, but neither could anyone else, and most of them seem to have done alright for themselves.

If life were predictable, it wouldn’t be nearly so interesting. There would be no such thing as surprises. It wouldn’t be worth waiting around for. Zombies would be the norm, rather than that threat we nerds have spent decades preparing for the arrival of.

So bring on the impulse panic decisions. Bring on the freedom. Or, if it swings the other way, bring on the fight against oppression.

Because I may not be ready for it, but what 19 year old is?

 

SSDD