“Mummy, in ten years I will be FIFTEEN which is a grown up!”
That is quite possibly the scariest thing that has ever come out of my son’s mouth. Fifteen? I remember all too well who I was and what I was doing at fifteen.
At fifteen I smoked, I drank (like a fish – white lightning cider and 20/20 do not mix well), I fell in love (lust), lost my virginity, had my heart broken (crushed in fact, which I replayed repeatedly to Tom’s Late Night Love-In on the radio as I sobbed into my pillow), I wore ridiculously high mules and suitably short dresses and had a heavier hand with the eye liner than David Bowie ever did.
Don’t get me wrong, at 15 there were some amazing things that I miss to this day, probably most of all the ability to leave the house braless, without tripping over something. At fifteen I was invincible, I was sure, I was so naive.
What do you remember about being 15? For the most part I loved being 15, heart-break aside, and if I could reach back and grab my 15yr old self I think rather than tell her not to do things she did or make the mistakes she did I would just give her a big hug and let her get on with it. My teenage years went a long way towards defining what and who I would become later on.
Tell me about your 15yr old self.
And for those who were 15yr old girls, and now have grown up boys, tell me it’ll be easier!
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| photo by photoproject2004 | via PhotoRee |
