I was twelve when I heard this magic phrase for the first time. It was sung, or rather screamed out by an imaginary little angel (sleeky, gross and horrific angel) to one of my early youth's heroine Ally McBeal. It was of course a nightmare as it's always, for God's sake, meant to be a nightmare for a woman, at that age in that kind of movie. But you see, I was twelve. And shame on me, I could't get it- what's the big deal? Unfortunately for the creators of the great hit of nineties, I still don't get it.
Because now it's the time, my dear readers, to talk about something that some do not want to hear about: woman's age. I just turned twenty eight.
As some of you might remember a year ago I spammed your Facebook walls with number of posts titled: '27'. This year I was naturally on my way to do the same, but luckily, for the sake of community, for the sake of unquestioned and commonly shared values, for the virtue of populistic, higher purpose, I was stopped. I was stopped by the biggest power of contemporary world: the social eye of appropriateness. Always on time, to make me realize what an awful thing I wanted to do against humanity: I wanted to convince you that woman's age doesn't matter. How foolish of me.
So, what is women's age? It's a superior category in the eye of social appropriateness, which creates and saves the natural order of the world. Women's age is a category marking woman's achievements. And moreover, the place of each one of us in the space, in the genderized circle or things moving around. Don't feel sad if you don't understand it, I would probably never uderstand it either.
William Faulkner once said that there is one particular difference between men and women: men are looking for love, women want to get married. And he's never been to my hometown. Unlike him, I visited this place very recently.
To be hundred percent sincere to my readers, I must do a little stop here. This part was indeed supposed to be a rally of women over 25, trying to get a guy in front of the altar. And it was about me liberated from it by my lovely reality built by myself over the past years. Sadly, since I started to write this post some of my friends, acquaintances, neighbours and a crowd of random clackers made me realize that I am not liberated at all. In fact, none of us is. There is this magical border for all of us behind which what we believe in, what we are craving, what we are searching, simply stops to matter. What matters is what we should, how we should and how miserable we appear if we don't want.
And what I should is something I would never guess. But luckily all of my lovely supporters were here to tell me that, right on time, supported by numbers of articles and psychological cliches alongside with a painful bunch of bullshit.
A 28-years-old woman should never, ever use the word 'bullshit'. Especially not in public. Innit!
Shall I say instead: oh thank you so much for your prompt and such a friendly advice, it warmed my heart up so much (mamma's style, of course- the woman my age is meant to have loads of maternity instinct); unfortunately, for now I am not in a position to make a use of it but I want you to know that your advice is always more than welcome.
Instead I will say exactly how I want it to sound. And what is actually is: the guidebook to be a 28-years-old woman.
The advice start with some innocent suggestions. For example, I should be having posters on my wall anymore. (Hands off of my Chat Noir bought in Camden!)
I shouldn't be wearing booty length shorts anymore. (I never had any, but as the summer will be approaching soon I am just hunting some online.)
No more ironic t-shirts. (I just got a new one.)
Starting rather anxiously, it jumps to conclusions. I detest conclusions out of their definition, but this time it is serious: these conclusions are about me. Apparently women my age are bound to watch reality shows and enjoy endless portions of booze drunk all alone. They also don't seem to enjoy partying hard or junk food (as a diabetic, I wonder how much that has to do with age... unless someone suggests that after a certain age don't you dare to be fat). The other parts, I believe, I don't need to explain.
What worries me the most is still not all of this. This- is just a beginning,
These are probably the last Birthday you want to celebrate
My friends are used to the fact that each year on my Birthday I throw a party. Not trying to be humble, it is kind of a celebration day for them, and for some a fixed date in their calendars. As this year I teamed up with Baby Lion, the agreed date hit a hectic time for me and I was unsure about the size of my party. And it was surprisingly her, merely celebrating her sweet 23, who all of a sudden said this phrase. That is probably the last Birthday you want to celebrate.
That was something I certainly did not take on the account. As she tried to explain, later you are busy with career (what career?) or you care more about the Birthdays of your kids (excuse me, whose kids?!). And of course, I won't be celebrate my thirties. Oh no! I will tie myself up in the bathtub and cry my eyes out! For God's sake!
Where is Mr Right, why he couldn't come
Of course my friends probably thought I would never let go of Alonso since, ha you know already, I am 28! No wonder some people got speechless once they realized we're not home together playing mamas and papas. Obviously, as he is out of the picture, that is increasing my possibility to never, never, never... So the majority of surrounding me creatures chose not to ask at all. Not mention anything, probably to avoid my endless tears and listening to Mancini's Romeo and Juliet for the whole night long. It took me some time before I understood that part. You see, Alonso is actually a cool guy. Why would I hate him? So if anybody wonders, but is too anxious to ask me, he's fine, just been to India for holidays and is moved in back to his town.
The division
That part, ladies and gentleman, is simple. According to uncle Google, there are only two kinds of women of such age: those who are now starting a family, and those to whom Mr Right hadn't come yet. It doesn't say whether you are not too old to believe in Mr Right. Neither what if by now you are a declared lesbian.
The division is especially dangerous. I would say more, it carries a danger of a serious injury on each participant's mental health. Because it is connected to the myth of success. The myth of success itself is a driving force of the eye of social appropriateness. Starting a family makes you established: so, you got the money. Hunting Mr Right on the other hand is nothing but searching for a man of a certain social and financial position, who will establish you so, you'll get the money,
Nothing like money
Ladies and gentleman, it is all about money. Because, what can you do if you never get married? You will never get established so., God, you will never get the money. Because how on earth could you get them, being only a woman in this world?
So when the little angel comes over to me, unlike Ally McBeal, I won't beat him. I will take him out for some booze instead.
William Faulkner once said that there is one particular difference between men and women: men are looking for love, women want to get married. And he's never been to my hometown. Unlike him, I visited this place very recently.
To be hundred percent sincere to my readers, I must do a little stop here. This part was indeed supposed to be a rally of women over 25, trying to get a guy in front of the altar. And it was about me liberated from it by my lovely reality built by myself over the past years. Sadly, since I started to write this post some of my friends, acquaintances, neighbours and a crowd of random clackers made me realize that I am not liberated at all. In fact, none of us is. There is this magical border for all of us behind which what we believe in, what we are craving, what we are searching, simply stops to matter. What matters is what we should, how we should and how miserable we appear if we don't want.
And what I should is something I would never guess. But luckily all of my lovely supporters were here to tell me that, right on time, supported by numbers of articles and psychological cliches alongside with a painful bunch of bullshit.
A 28-years-old woman should never, ever use the word 'bullshit'. Especially not in public. Innit!
Shall I say instead: oh thank you so much for your prompt and such a friendly advice, it warmed my heart up so much (mamma's style, of course- the woman my age is meant to have loads of maternity instinct); unfortunately, for now I am not in a position to make a use of it but I want you to know that your advice is always more than welcome.
Instead I will say exactly how I want it to sound. And what is actually is: the guidebook to be a 28-years-old woman.
The advice start with some innocent suggestions. For example, I should be having posters on my wall anymore. (Hands off of my Chat Noir bought in Camden!)
I shouldn't be wearing booty length shorts anymore. (I never had any, but as the summer will be approaching soon I am just hunting some online.)
No more ironic t-shirts. (I just got a new one.)
Starting rather anxiously, it jumps to conclusions. I detest conclusions out of their definition, but this time it is serious: these conclusions are about me. Apparently women my age are bound to watch reality shows and enjoy endless portions of booze drunk all alone. They also don't seem to enjoy partying hard or junk food (as a diabetic, I wonder how much that has to do with age... unless someone suggests that after a certain age don't you dare to be fat). The other parts, I believe, I don't need to explain.
What worries me the most is still not all of this. This- is just a beginning,
These are probably the last Birthday you want to celebrate
My friends are used to the fact that each year on my Birthday I throw a party. Not trying to be humble, it is kind of a celebration day for them, and for some a fixed date in their calendars. As this year I teamed up with Baby Lion, the agreed date hit a hectic time for me and I was unsure about the size of my party. And it was surprisingly her, merely celebrating her sweet 23, who all of a sudden said this phrase. That is probably the last Birthday you want to celebrate.
That was something I certainly did not take on the account. As she tried to explain, later you are busy with career (what career?) or you care more about the Birthdays of your kids (excuse me, whose kids?!). And of course, I won't be celebrate my thirties. Oh no! I will tie myself up in the bathtub and cry my eyes out! For God's sake!
Where is Mr Right, why he couldn't come
Of course my friends probably thought I would never let go of Alonso since, ha you know already, I am 28! No wonder some people got speechless once they realized we're not home together playing mamas and papas. Obviously, as he is out of the picture, that is increasing my possibility to never, never, never... So the majority of surrounding me creatures chose not to ask at all. Not mention anything, probably to avoid my endless tears and listening to Mancini's Romeo and Juliet for the whole night long. It took me some time before I understood that part. You see, Alonso is actually a cool guy. Why would I hate him? So if anybody wonders, but is too anxious to ask me, he's fine, just been to India for holidays and is moved in back to his town.
The division
That part, ladies and gentleman, is simple. According to uncle Google, there are only two kinds of women of such age: those who are now starting a family, and those to whom Mr Right hadn't come yet. It doesn't say whether you are not too old to believe in Mr Right. Neither what if by now you are a declared lesbian.
The division is especially dangerous. I would say more, it carries a danger of a serious injury on each participant's mental health. Because it is connected to the myth of success. The myth of success itself is a driving force of the eye of social appropriateness. Starting a family makes you established: so, you got the money. Hunting Mr Right on the other hand is nothing but searching for a man of a certain social and financial position, who will establish you so, you'll get the money,
Nothing like money
Ladies and gentleman, it is all about money. Because, what can you do if you never get married? You will never get established so., God, you will never get the money. Because how on earth could you get them, being only a woman in this world?
So when the little angel comes over to me, unlike Ally McBeal, I won't beat him. I will take him out for some booze instead.
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