"You're not 15 anymore."

Sarah is...Excited!

[Anna commented on your status: About what?]

[Sarah replied to comment: New sofa arriving today :)]

[Anna left a comment: And you're excited about that?]

[Sarah replied to comment: Yes...I've been waiting all day!]

[Anna left a comment: Remember when we used to get excited about pink wine Sarah?...compare those excitements...]

[Sarah replied to comment: ...alright, point taken. Piss off!]

Turning up the Spice Girls to drown out the sound of my Mum shouting up the stairs for me to turn it down my 15 year old self sat cross-legged on my bedroom floor in front of the mirror and blew the excess eye shadow from the brush, (silver glitter shadow, free on the front cover of Mizz! magazine and totally in style!), gently sweeping it across my lid, before doing the same to the other eye, a thick layer of mascara (from the market on Saturday - £3.50 - bargain!) and no liner, because I hadn't quite worked out how to use it yet, and I was done. Standing up I smoothed down my silver PVC skirt, it stopped just before the knee so it wasn't really short enough but there was nothing I could do about that, I admired the matching top, equally shiny and halterneck, it always felt risky not wearing a bra but none of the other girls did.

"You look nice." Mum said as I came wobbling down the stairs in black wedged sandals. (I looked like a pale Turkey wrapped in Baco foil.)

"Thanks, can I have a lift?" I beamed back, though the shoes were maiming my feet.

Sure enough my Mum dutifully dropped me off at Becca's house and we proceeded to get "drunk" on the cooking sherry in her parent's alcohol cupboard whilst they were out before walking the short way down the road to Gary Rudd's birthday party - held at the local football club the night went by in a blur of glitter hairspray and the Macarena until finally, the part all girls dreaded, unless you were Kimberley Whats-her-face with her perfect hair swishing round her shoulders and tiny pink skirt that all the boys spent the night trying to see up, those first first chords of Robbie Williams' 'Angels' would blare out and everyone would pretend that they didn't really want to slow dance with a boy anyway. Boys smelled. Whilst eyeing the girls who were slow-dancing with their boyfriends evilly over the top of your glass of Cherryade.

Falling into bed that night at 11.30pm (I'd be so tired tomorrow, it's so late!), not bothering to take off my make-Up because my 15 year old self didn't see it as a big deal, I turned on the tiny torch I kept under my pillow and opened my fluffy pink diary (unfortunately this is true - I found it the other day!), pulling out the matching pen I proceeded to doodle love hearts round Jamie Figg's name and add our names up using the 'Love Calculator' before finally falling asleep, safe in the knowledge that at 89% me and Jamie were totally meant to be.

[Anna is...24 in 3 months. Fuck.]

[Gemma is...ENGAGED :)]

[Anna commented on Gemma's status: ..........?]

"Are you finished in the bathroom yet?" The Boy shouts. (Must point out that The Boy is definitely NOT Jamie Figg.)

"Almost"

"What are you doing in there?"

Kneading the last of the Clarins Night Perfect skin cream into my Bulldog frowned forehead, I brush my teeth, floss (God, I'm getting old!) and rinse and spit. I'm fairly sure that I've been in the bathroom for ten million years and I now know with certainty that I look worse than when I went in, it's like a disappointing episode of 'Stars in their Eyes'. Snuggling down into bed the skin cream wafts up my nose and I wonder how something that smells like tanning oil from the 90's can be doing anything for my skin overnight.

"Gemma got engaged." I say, sounding not at all judgemental.

"Hmmmm." Is the reply I recieve.

"Doesn't that scare you?"

"Not really. All of your friends are getting married or engaged or having babies. Emily just had a baby two weeks ago.

"Yeah, but we're only 23, some of my friends are still 22." I gawp in the darkness.

"It's called growing up babe, it's what people do. Go to sleep."

After those sound words of wisdom I lie awake for another hour, counting off the amount of people I went to school with who now have babies or are planning a wedding and it hits me like that cooking sherry used to, raw and rough...I'm not 15 and wearing silver eye shadow anymore.

"You've been to two weddings this year already and you're only just realising you're not 15 anymore? Really Anna? Really?" Emily eyes me over the table at lunch.

"It's just crept up on me!" I protest, sipping my latte sheepishly and staring at the baby gently suckling at the bottle Emily's clutching.

"Well, we're all older now Hun, we aren't 15 and ripping the song lyrics out of Smash Hits! anymore." Emily lifts up baby George to burp him. Christ, I sometimes need The Boy to do that to me!

My buzzing phone alerts me to a new email, a new responsibility. It's only work but still, it's something we never would have worried about at 15 and 16, Mum and Dad bought the food, Mum and Dad paid for the water, electricity and whatever meant that I had extra channels on the t.v. in my bedroom. I got money on my birthdays and my Grandparents would give me £5 a week pocket money. Life was good at 16. Now, I was spending my Friday afternoons in John Lewis looking for a set of silver steak knives to buy a Bride and Groom that I went to school with that they would never bloody use.

As if in protest of my 23 year old self I drove home from lunch with Emily and George with the Spice Girls on full blast in the car, who cares about the dodgy looks from that bloke at the traffic lights. Once home I proceeded to find my B*Witched albums out and dance around the house with a hairbrush...alright, I couldn't find my hairbrush so it was a can of deodorant...until all worries, stress, babies, engagement gifts and wedding outfits were banished from my tiny 15 year old self 's brain...thank God there was no cooking sherry around really.

When Adele and Keevy abruptly stopped singing half way through the chorus of 'Rollercoaster' I knew I'd been rumbled...sure enough The Boy was watching me from the doorway of the kitchen. In situations such as this there really is only one thing to be done...turning the stereo back on I finished my routine and flung myself into his unsuspecting arms.

"Are you being 15 again?" He said, admiring the bunches in my hair.

"Maybe." I looked innocent, (honestly, I looked ridiculous.)

"Then I'm afraid we can't do what I had planned for tonight," The Boy pulls out a bottle of Champagne from behind his back, " because Miss, you're underage...for both things."

Suddenly, my 15 year old self didn't seem so fun anymore, maybe being an adult has it's perks after all!! But whilst you still have that B*Witched CD stashed under your bed you can always go back to that girl you used to be...the fun parts anyway!

xxx