The difference between turning 21 and 24

Last night I said to Sugania:

"You won't believe what I made for dinner. A crispy salad topped with raisins."

And with that I officially resigned from the early twenties club, and joined other mid-twenties in their search for Sainsbury's 'be good to yourself' range, prettier footwear, french skincare and classier cocktails. When I reach my late twenties, I'll start shopping at Waitrose. Because then I will be able to afford it.

The path to reaching 24 has not been easy. Along the way I've had to face up to the reality that sneakers are not for every occasion and running a comb through my hair in the mornings makes a difference because there is an age limit to pulling off the grunge look, and I'm way past expiry. Learning to accessorise has been painful. One, because I've never (before now) spent more than 15 minutes trying to look beautiful. Two, because I'm too indecisive to buy accessories.

It's also taken three years of several beauticians trying to tell me that I have sensitive skin to finally believe it. It's so easy to look fresh-faced at 21. Now I look in the mirror and it's giving me anxiety attacks. I've never followed the 3 step face care ritual (cleanse-tone-mosturise) in my life! 5 months ago, I caved in and bought a toner. And other Laura Mercier skincare products. There go my birthday angpows.

I've dumped my all too precious deuter backpack for pretty handbags. My scrungies for straighteners. My lazing about schedules for three times a week at the gym.

I'm not growing old. I'm growing up. And that's just a teensy bit depressing.