I turned 40 two weeks ago. Even as I write those words I still refuse to believe them. Me? 40? It doesn’t make sense. My calendar must be malfunctioning. I still feel like I’m 20 … unless I am walking up some stairs. I still behave as if I am 20. In fact I behave more like I am 20 than I did when I was 20. So I can’t be 40. I am nothing like a 40-year-old. When my dad was 40 he had been married for 17 years, had three children, two of them teenagers. He had worked hard as a teacher all his adult life and recently been promoted to headmaster, wore a suit and tie every day and had proper grown-up hobbies like listening to classical music, gardening, golf, DIY and making elderflower wine. I, conversely, am single, I’ve never been married and am childless. I am sloshing around in the insecure (in both senses) world of stand-up comedy. Most nights I go drinking with other people in their twenties (“other” because I am in my twenties, remember), most daytimes I play on my Nintendo Wii. I have the latest Arctic Monkeys CD, wear Converse trainers and recently acquired a skateboard – though tellingly I am too scared to be on it when it’s moving, but it’s good to casually hold, while walking down the road, nodding at other sk8erbois (it means skater boys, grandad). I have no practical skills whatsoever, paying other people to mend broken stuff and even do my cleaning.
Reassuringly, I am not alone. While many people in their forties have families and responsibilities, an increasing minority still resemble teenagers. Scary, wrinkled, grey-haired teenagers, with some kind of terrifying premature ageing disease, but teenagers nonetheless. It’s enough of a phenomenon to have been given its own portmanteau label: kidult. They’re adults, but they behave like kids. Which is at least better than being a kid that behaves like an adult. Though I was probably one of those too. http://women.timesonline.co.uk/tol/life_and_style/women/the_way_we_live/article2158156.ece
Hey, kidult you’re not fooling anyone
