Memories of decade well spent
I TURNED 30 recently – recentlyish, anyway. I could barely believe it had been 10 years since my 20th birthday – an event celebrated with a stellar night at what was once The Quarterdeck and is now – well, nothing.
I was young and hot, with abs like Britney Spears before her meltdown. Perhaps retrospect has distorted my self-perception just a bit, but you get the idea.
A week earlier I’d met a strapping young man, who I’ve since married and had the world’s best two kids with.
I was at the end of my first year of JCU journalism, and was paying the rent by working between classes at Discount Jeans.
What did I think of 30-year-olds when I was 20? Nothing – I ignored them.
In those days, 30 seemed like the age when men grew beer guts and women sprouted wrinkles and soft grey moustaches.
But overnight, I became one of ‘‘ those people’’.
Horrifying realisations gripped me – I would never be a child prodigy, Olympic sprinter or Young Anything of the Year. If I went out at night would everything be different? Would people still request Brown-Eyed Girl and yell ‘‘ taxi!’’ when someone broke a glass?
Perhaps scariest of all was that saying about having the body you’re born with when you’re young and then being lumped with the body you deserve once you turn 30.
The all-eating, no-exercising body I deserve wouldn’t fit into anything other than fat-fetish websites frequented by scrawny Americans with bad teeth and paedophile moustaches. Sponge-on-a-stick, anyone?
When the control freak in me eventually relinquished her imagined hold on time itself, a more sensible realisation struck.
I wouldn’t change a thing about the past 10 years. There’s a few things I would tweak a little, but I’m 99 per cent satisfied with the decade in review. It was the best yet, actually, despite the deepening facial lines and lack of defined abs.
Being 20 had its perks – literally – but 30 kicks 20’ s spray-tanned, g-stringed arse. Bring on 31. Road Ode: Oh, Mount Low Parkway full of holes and patches, why can’t you do your job?
Is there a flowing underground river under you, washing away the road from below?
Are you hiding a secret underworld populated by Charlie Sheen’s evil trolls?
Maybe the council should have made the developer fix you before building all those homes at Bushland Beach.
It’s too late now.