Being a student is hard. Being a mature student isn’t much easier. Here are the things I’ve learnt since returning to Uni at the ripe age of 26.
- You cannot drink anymore. You have zero skills.
I remember the days I’d drink until 4am. I’d dance in six inch heels, I’d do shots, I’d boogy the night away and end it with a kebab. And the next day? No hangover. Up at 9 in time for a Maccies breakfast, shopping, a snooze and then out again. It was all a breeze.
Now? I wake up feeling like the devil has put out a cigar on my tongue. Why is it so bright? Where is my bag? Why are my feet bleeding? Oh god, I need to be sick. Where is the toilet? Why am I still in my dress from the night before?
Oh and that lasts for at least 2 days.
- You’re 10x nerdier than you ever were.
New pens? Give. New notebooks? Hell yes. Coloured folders? Oh, hot mama, bring them on. Stationary is just the one. Essays? Preparation. Exams? Mood boards. And you know why? Because you feel like teenage you just didn’t try hard enough and you’re always your own worst critic. So damn you, 16-year-old Kayleigh, you’re getting your geek on. Pass me the whiteboard pen.
- Age doesn’t actually matter.
I am obsessed with my age since hanging around with 18-year-olds. I was terrified I’d be seen as the old one, the mum of the group (although I am but that’s just because I’m a control freak), and I wouldn’t make any friends at all. “Hey guys, l-o-l, do you like my heelies? Watch me fly, yo!” But it’s all bullshit. Most people I meet can’t even believe I’m 26 (although that could be a very generous lie, love ya’s), and I don’t feel any different. Apart from the odd comment that makes me feel proper old, it’s no different! Maybe it’s because I still feel 18 in my head. I’m not nearly 30, okay. *Frantically buys a fidget spinner.*
- Cheap drinks are cheap.
I’m sorry my good sir, this vodka you’ve served me seems to be a form of paint stripper, did you know? Oh you do know? Are you trying to make me go blind? How does anyone even survive drinking it? A shot of tequila feels like I’m swallowing the words of Katie Hopkins and the burning just won’t stop. I’m used to my working days when cocktails were my jam, because cosmopolitans are life, ya hear me? But this single vodka and lemonade has more fire in it than Beyonce’s dance routines.
- You don’t know any of the music. Sorry, who’s dab?
“Ha ha, 17, 38!” Wait, what? I know most of the music from now through Vine (long live vine), my friend, and that’s how I know Wiggle Wiggle and how I’ll always know it. But if you could kindly explain a dab for me, I’d very much appreciate it. Oh, so it’s like a Cha Cha Slide of 2016? What do you mean ‘what’s a cha cha slide’?