The title of my blog is really false advertising, as I am not yet 18. But in less than three weeks, you can know me as an honest and voluptuous adult as I make the transition from immature 17 year-old to worldly and sophisticated woman. Or not.
In any case, my 18th birthday is coming up and I am excited!
I’ve always loved birthdays. Waking up on that day (which is the 19th of September if anyone wants to purchase me a horrendously expensive gift), I feel tingly and special. Everyone is nice to me, and who doesn’t love cake and presents (sorry to be selfish but that’s the way it is). But I am especially antsy in regard to this birthday, because it’s a real milestone, like when you turn 10 (double digits), 13 (teenager), 16 (who knows, it just is) and 21 (don’t know why). Being 18 means I can legally drink, go into adult shops and bars, attend Sexpo and ride the gerbil (apparently it’s like a ghost train only with giant penises), and see R-rated films. The fact that I am not likely to do the first three things anyway and have been doing the latter since I was 15 is irrelevant.
So what do I plan to do to celebrate? I hear you ask. Well, I’m not one who enjoys massive parties with drunk people puking and leering and falling asleep on my driveway with their pants around their ankles, so that’s out. You may have figured out by this point that I’m kind of lame. I don’t really drink, I’ve never smoked or done drugs, and I hate big parties. I miss kids’ parties, where you dressed up and played hide and seek and stuff. That was fun! So I think I’ll just do something boring, like go out to dinner, giving me a chance to wear heels (did I mention I’m a shoe-holic? More of that later). Plus I’ve wanted to go to the zoo for ages, not having been since I was about 13, so maybe I’ll do that. Don’t laugh at me!
I’m counting down the days ‘til my birthday, whatever I end up doing. I’ll let you know what happens, as I’m sure you will be dying to know.
Xx
