There’s been some speculation of late on various blogs about what constitutes being “grown-up”. Although I realise that, for some people, being a parent automatically confers “grown-up” status on you, I’ve always felt that, as I’ve never lived alone or been financially independent, I wasn’t really a grown-up yet.
Until this morning, when I realised that I’m not so much a grown-up as just old.
It all started with a comment I made here. While I could appreciate the charms of young Mr Rhys-Meyers and Herr Volz, I felt a bit like I do when I admire something my teenage daughter’s wearing – I can see why it’s attractive but it’s not for me. Now I’ve already gone on record as an ardent admirer of a man 14 years my senior, but even I was a bit surprised at the amount of time I spent over Easter weekend watching Jack Shepherd* in re-runs of a TV series I didn’t even watch first time round. The lovely Mr Shepherd, by the way, is 67 and only a few months younger than my mum.
What finally convinced me that I was truly ancient though, was a conversation I had with Brian this morning. I was recounting Daisy’s response to my previous post (‘He’s a good actor, mum but he’s so OLD’) and laughing at the fact that Daisy’s finding Daniel Auteuil (ten years her father’s senior) attractive would be like me finding someone of 82 attractive!
‘Yes’ said Brian ‘someone like David Attenborough’
* No, not this one**
** Or this one