When I grow up, I will be tall and svelte and balanced. I will throw my feet ahead of myself as I walk, like models do. I will be perfectly groomed and grounded and I will hold my head high. I will wash my hair a lot and shower every day and be gracious.
I will do what I say I'm going to. I will not lose track of time and wonder where the days went while I wasn't looking.
I will have nobody to please except myself. It will be all right to be who I am and do what I do. If there's still a log in the passenger footwell of my car that fell out of the bag I was bringing home for the fire two years ago, nobody will notice except me and I won't mind.
I will buy my car tax on time.
I will love the people I love and let them love me back.
I will believe that when somebody says we'll drive in a convoy to Strawberry Fair in Cambridge next year that that's what we'll actually do.
(Last year it was all a bit new and the park-and-ride was brilliant but we didn't know quite where to get off the bus and ended up following the crowds and the sound of music as if we knew what we were doing and feeling a bit nervous and hot, and Joe and Ben had dressed up for the occasion and we walked and walked and walked until we got there and we were so so hungry and I bought jerk chicken and rice-and-peas for all of us and we sat on the grass and ate it while Joe and Ben got used to the idea that this was a big place and there were cheeses there who were even bigger than they were and gradually they detached themselves and looked less worried and found the tent where the King Blues were playing even before Annie and I did and then we met some people we knew and talked to them for a bit and suddenly that was enough and it was time to go home.)
I will learn how to drink less and smoke less and go to bed at sensible times and be a good example to my children and tidy up as I go and not let rubbish pile up into heaps where maggots grow and hatch into bluebottles that buzz madly against the windows.
When I grow up I'll be perfect.
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