Y’know when you’re about 13 and you just can’t wait to get old enough to apply for your provisional drivers licence? All you can think about is driving and how cool it will be to go on road trips with your chums. Ah, remember?
Except, when I turned 17, all my money went on cider. And shoes. And nights out. And really, really disgusting Primark lingerie to wear for my first boyfriend.
So, at the ripe old age of 22, I’m still riding the bus. Which is fine. I live really near the stop! Also, you just meet the best yet weirdest characters. Last Christmas, I was invited to someone’s family dinner. What’s more festive/rapey than that?
People always listen to what you have to say and give their little input too, which I secretly love. This occured to me en-route back from the city centre this evening:
Me: …Urgh, so my muscles are aching like crazy. I think it’s just fatigue, y’know?
My friend: Yes, you haven’t really been sleeping have you?
Me: Not like I usually do. Maybe 3-4 hours a night.
[And so it continues]
Me: So, I’m just going to rest up.
14 year-old on the seat behind: Hi, uh, I’m, uh really sorry to, uh, butt in but I, uh, was listening to your, erm, conversation about how ill you are.
Me: I’m not really ill—
14 year-old: Because I was thinking how pale you look.
Me: I’m mixed race, I never look pale.
14 year old: Anyway, my Nana felt exactly the same….
14 year old: …just before she died.
14 year old: So be careful.