Praise the "21 Rule".

In the very near, and looming future, I am to be no longer a girl of 21. I have never before really thought about getting older, but I'm no more immune to it that anyone else! (Although I am a health food freak [sometimes], have an aversion to sun-exposure, being an English Rose with freckles, and have been using anti-aging products sporadically for 2 years, so I am hoping I might be immune.)

I love telling people I'm 21! Not least because of the shock factor: people swallowing their tongues at the prospect of a married 21 year old. I may resign myself to being one of those ladies that celebrate every birthday as "21 again", it might be quite fun. I do love birthdays, all the fuss and stuff; I'm no shrinking violet.

On the plus side, although shop assistants of late had stopped asking me for identification when I buy beer for my beloved, they seem to have resumed! Am overjoyed, I thought I was losing my touch. I have a real baby face, so does HID, we got jointly ID'd last night, and he's older than me! I love it, because even though they have the new "21" rule, so I must look 20, what I really want to believe is that I've been mistaken for a fresh-faced (or should that be acne-prone?) 17 year old. It's always a complement, keep them coming! Long may I require my diver's licence to buy beer, bearing a photo of my 16 year old self, taken for my provisional.

So I may be entering my "mid twenties", but I certainly don't look it. Yet.

Grown.