the aunty speaketh

i just turned twenty-seven a week ago. and i have to admit that i don't feel twenty-seven. and what's more, i don't remember the last time i felt my age. except maybe when i was sixteen. (i felt all grown up and adult. like this was it. i had done all the growing up i had to do) then i turned seventeen. and next thing i know, i'm twenty seven, just like that, without ever feeling my age.

it's worrisome. not feeling your age. because then you don't know how to behave. on a certain occassion, i've been known to pull off over-the-hill with great flair (especially when it comes to climbing six flights of stairs with tar laden lungs) and other times, the twelve year old giggly idiot(which, by the way, is a personal favourite, and an age i carry off to perfection).

unfortunately, there's nothing remarkable about twenty-seven. no code of conduct that is inherent with the age. no adjective that will give you a rough idea to work with. like the terrible teens or sweet sixteen or even the daintily adult twenty-one.

problem is, twenty-seven is very very commonplace as ages go. except for a few things maybe. you know you've hit it when -

1. your skin cells stop renewing themselves (and you actually know that for a scientific fact) .

2. you drink alcohol, not because it's a stimulant but because it's a preservative.

3. the only songs that you recognise on music television are the ones played on a programme called "zzzzz".

4. you remember drinking goldspot.

5. your mother starts talking about your ovaries in third person.

6. people who you called dada/didi out of respect, you now call by first name, out of sheer embarassment.

7. you remember dates (history doesn't seem dull when you realise that you've lived through a bit of it).

8. and yes, you forget all the items on your list before you can actually finish it.