There’s no such thing as 30

It recently dawned on me (as these things often do) that I will be turning 29 in a few months. And if we all paid careful attention in math class then we should know that the big 3-0 is not that far behind…

This horrifying illuminating realisation inspired me to write an ode to the approach of three decades. It neatly sums up precisely how I feel about getting older.

There’s no such thing as 30,

29 is also fake,

I’m certain I’ve not turned 28, there must
be some mistake.

I don’t recall a 27, perhaps I was in a
meeting?

26 I missed, I’m sure of this – must have
happened while I was sleeping.

At 25 I reached halfway – to what, I’m not
quite sure,

Because I’m absolutely positive I never
turned 24.

23? No, that wasn’t me – another one I’ve
missed.

I shan’t discuss the 22, it just does not
exist.

I should have spent my 21 drinking in a bar,

But since my liver’s in top shape, I didn’t
get that far.

So I guess I must be 20! I’m sure it’s what
I know.

Does it matter that I’ve been 20 for the
last 8 years or so?

Written by Mish, in her head, during the school run on a particularly windy autumn morning.